Mimir's Well (working title)
by Evelyn Brightpaw
Summary: After being returned to Asgard in chains, Loki has little else to do but sit in his prison and think. Through a series of flashbacks, he must come to terms with his relationships with Thor, his parents, and himself - as well as a young girl named Sigyn from a past he wishes he could forget. A mix of film canon and Norse myth. My first try at Marvel characters, so please review!
1. Chapter 1

"_I would drink from your well, Mimir," he said._

"_There is a price to be paid. All who have come here to drink have shrunk from paying that price."_

_ - Padraic Colum, "The Children of Odin"_

1

He wasn't entirely sure which was more irritating – the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, or the fact that he couldn't lick his lips. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon. And truthfully, he hadn't been much impressed by that, a lump of something resembling meat that could only be described as pitiful. But he had done without food for days before. The need to wet his lips was more unaccustomed, more immediate. He twitched his mouth vainly against the cold metal of the muzzle and inwardly rolled his eyes. It had been a long time since he had been so forcefully silenced, but once the memory started itself up it had an unsettling and unfortunate clarity. Memory was a sticky thing, he reflected; it was like touching the sap on a tree. Once you started remembering, it was impossible to scrub it off your consciousness until something even more irritating took its place. With that in mind, he dragged his thoughts back to the hunk of metal on his face – back to the fact that he was dry-lipped, hungry, and muzzled like some kind of dangerous animal. He scoffed a bit at that, what would have been a smirk tugging at the corners of his imprisoned mouth. _Dangerous_, he might be… but an animal? Hardly. Of course, he could think of a _few_ people who fit that description.

"Hey!" Loki's eyebrows crashed together sharply as the big, rough hand of the guard jerked at his shoulder. "I _saw_ that, traitor," the man grumbled from behind a curly red beard that was spilling out of the cheek plates of his gold helmet. He stopped Loki in the middle of the dim hallway and glared at him. "Rolling your eyes at me, were you?" The Einherjar dug his big sausage fingers into Loki's collar and twisted the fabric, locking his head into place. Loki glared at him over the muzzle. _No, you twit, _he grumbled._ I actually _wasn't_ rolling my eyes at _you_. Unless you've magically transformed yourself into dwarf-forged metal and wrapped yourself around my face. Which I highly doubt, considering that I am the shape-changer here – and considering that you look as though you couldn't effectively wrap yourself around anything except your lunch. _The words all flowed clearly from his brain to his tongue, stopped angrily against the muzzle like waves against a breakwater, and had to be swallowed down. What did come out was a frustrated hiss of breath from his nose and a venomous flash of dark emerald eyes. His guard's gaze faltered for a second, then he twisted his fist tighter into Loki's collar and forced his head down an inch or two. "You'd better watch yourself, Jotun. Nobody's fooled anymore." He glared at Loki, his face the sneering mask of all playground bullies grown to adulthood. _Fooled by what?_ Loki had just enough time to wonder before another heavy hand came down between his shoulders.

"Oi, Frithjofr, is the icicle giving you trouble?" Loki felt another set of fingers digging into the back of his collar as a second Einherjar in gold armor came around from behind him. A cocky smirk pulled at his lips behind close-clipped blond whiskers. Frithjofr snorted at him.

"Nothing I couldn't handle with one hand tied behind my back," he growled. "Don't fret your pretty little head, Njáll. I'll worry about the Icicle, you worry about the keys. Now which cell are we taking him to again?" He released his grip on Loki's collar with a shove, wiping his fingers on the leather of Njáll's tunic before taking hold of Loki's arm as he had before. Njáll absently jingled the keys on his belt.

"The only cell on this level. Lowest floor in Gladsheim, directly below the throne room. Didn't you pay any attention at all?"

_No, _Loki seethed._ He was probably thinking about food._ He gave Njáll a look that seemed to say so, which the guard pretended not to notice.

"No," Frithjofr murmured. "Roskva was setting out dinner. Now how am I supposed to listen to orders with that going on in the same room?" He jerked Loki to a stop and stared at Njáll expectantly. Njáll glanced at Loki, whose right eyebrow was arched as if to say _Didn't I tell you?_ The guard again pretended not to notice his prisoner's facial commentary, but this time he had to stop himself from grinning. Frithjofr caught his expression and began snarling at him.

"Oh, I see. Teaming up against me now, are you?" he grumbled, shoving Loki against the wall. His frizzy beard was shaking irritably. "Are you really agreeing with the frost giant?"

"Of course not, you idiot," Njáll sighed in exasperation. "I don't need the icicle's help to make fun of you. That lard gut of yours is a joke no matter who tells it."

"Hmph," Frithjofr scoffed and turned back to Loki, who was grimacing at him over the muzzle, dizzy from having his head bounced off the solid metal wall. The guard flicked his eyes up and down Loki's face contemptuously. "Well this one's not _telling_ any jokes anymore. Not with his mouth caged up like that. And it must be _killing_ you, I bet. All you were ever any good at was running that mouth of yours, and now that's taken away you've got nothing left. Nothing but a head full of words."

"And eye-rolling," Njáll sneered over Frithjofr's shoulder. "All those imperious looks he's been giving us, glaring at us like he was somehow superior. Like we were still his subjects. Shall we teach him where the authority really lies?" Frithjofr pulled Loki away from the wall as Njáll sauntered around behind him, and for a quiet moment they both regarded him stonily, meeting his glinting eyes and gathered brows with a sulky defiance. Then Frithjofr reached up swiftly and grabbed a handful of Loki's dark hair, jerking it mercilessly.

"You're not the prince anymore, Jotun. Things have changed here in Asgard." Loki grunted around the muzzle as the guard flung his head back into the hands of his companion, who caught him by the hair again and held him in place. And suddenly Loki felt the breath jerked out of his lungs as Frithjofr drove a boulder-sized fist into his gut. All he could manage to do was glare at his captor viciously over the muzzle as he struggled to re-inflate his chest and keep from vomiting.

_No, _he contended silently as he watched the guard's fist wind up for a second strike. _Nothing has changed. Nothing at all._ He closed his eyes and waited for the next punch to land.

* * *

"Oof!" Loki spat out dirt as he raised his head, trying to see what had knocked him over. A herd of scrawny legs and dirty feet scrambled past him, a couple of pairs in the lead. Accompanying them was a chorus of about ten different voices, all shouting and laughing.

"Come back here!"

"Come and get me, your Royal Slowness!"

"Hey, no fair, pushing!"

"Just wait til I catch you, you little tick!"

"Thor, shut up! He runs faster when he's mad!"

"First to the hedge wall? Right?"

Loki stood up and brushed dirt and leaves off his tunic as the crowd of other children passed him. Leading the pack were Hermod, Loki's half brother, and Skirnir, a lanky boy with a smirk a mile wide. Following them in a rumbling huddle were the other boys of the palace – Thor, Baldur, Hodur, Vidar, Hogun, and Fandral – and Brynhild, who everyone pretty much considered one of the boys since she refused to behave otherwise. Picking a leaf out of his dark hair, which was sticking up at crazy angles, Loki called after the group.

"Hey, what's your problem, guys? Can't I walk through the garden anymore?"

"I don't know, CAN you?" Skirnir turned and began running backwards, still leading the pack as he did. "Because you certainly can't RUN. Hahahaha!" His blonde curls bounced around his ears as he laughed uproariously. Beside him, Hermod shoved him lightly.

"Turn around, nitwit, they're gaining on us!"

"Haha! No, they're not!" Skirnir chortled, but he did turn to run facing forward again. The herd stampeded on around the corner of Gladsheim palace, heading for the backside of the gardens where the high green hedge walls marked the boundaries of their playground. Loki watched until they were all sufficiently out of sight, stuck out his tongue petulantly, and then bent to pick up the book they had knocked out of his hands. It had landed in the edge of one of the flower beds and the black soil had gotten into all the grooves of the leather binding. Picking out the dirt with his fingernails, Loki frowned and started walking toward the orchard. Snotra would _kill_ him if he brought that book back to her in anything less than mint condition. She hadn't wanted to lend it to him to begin with. _In the first place_, she had said (as she always said when he talked her into giving him a book), _children ought not to be trusted with valuable texts. And in the second place, children ought not to be reading about rune magic. And in the third place, your _Highness_ ought to be out learning how to be a prince of Asgard, not a rune reader or magician._ Loki mouthed the entire monologue to himself as he turned the corner of the palace. He had heard it so many times he could quote it. _But Father reads the runes. He _gave_ us the runes._ He had tried that argument the first couple of times. _Yes,_ Snotra had replied, _and your Father is the King of Asgard and has need of such things._ It was here that the argument had always gone downhill. _But shouldn't a prince learn what he might need to be king?_ he had always asked. And Snotra had never replied. Because Loki would never be king. Thor. _Thor _would be king. Loki's lip curled scornfully as he tucked the rune text under his arm. Thor was firstborn, and naturally that gave him the right to the throne. But Loki had come to suspect that even if something happened to Thor, kingship would skip right over him – to Baldur, most likely – succession or no succession. And Loki was pretty sure that neither Thor nor Baldur could read runes even if they were tattooed onto their eyes.

"Where did the little lemming get to, anyway?"

Loki stopped short and ducked back behind the corner of the palace. Peeking around, he quickly discovered the speaker – Skirnir, naturally – lounging upside down on one of the stone benches, legs draped over the back and head hanging off the seat, surrounded by the other winded, panting children. Hermod was sitting (right side up) on the bench beside him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Stop calling him a lemming, Skirnir."

"Oh, sorry, you're right," Skirnir apologized with a snort. "He's a shrew. He's too scrawny to be a lemming!" The whole pack laughed, and Skirnir guffawed until he almost choked on his own saliva, forcing him to sit up. Loki dug dirty fingernails into his book. He knew exactly where this was heading, and he was running through his mental checklist of places to hide. It was the same every time Skirnir got one of these whims. The boys would talk and talk about him until they got it into their heads that he needed to be "more involved" in their group. That they were doing him a favor. And Skirnir would suggest that they "ask" him to compete with them. A race (otherwise known as the "Skirnir Wins" game), or a wrestling match (also known as "Thor Wins"), or maybe a game of target practice (which Loki never saw who won because he was usually the target). It never mattered. The object was always the same. "Generously" offer to let Loki play whatever stupid game they were playing, watch him lose, and then laugh until they were sick. Loki hugged the rune book and thought quickly. The orchards were close, but unless Idun was there, there was no protection. The closest palace door was in full view of the other children. The next closest led to the stables, and there was no way he was getting caught in there again. Last time had been a disaster. If he could just get—

"Well, _there_ you are!" Loki jumped and then cursed internally. Skirnir had come around the corner while he was looking for escape routes, and now he was caught. Skirnir read his face and grinned even wider, his snub nose crinkling in what he thought to be a good imitation of friendliness. "We've been wondering where you went to, Friend!" Loki gagged a little at Skirnir's over-acting and began backing away, keeping close to the wall.

"Oh, well… yeah, I was just about to go return this book to Snotra. You know how she is when you—"

"Actually, I don't," Skirnir smiled. "Never go near the woman. Too much of a dusty old academic for my taste." _Hmph_, Loki thought. _Anyone who can _read_ is too academic for you._ Out loud, he simply made a sound that implied, Oh, really? and started to walk away again. Skirnir captured him with a long, gangly arm around his shoulders. "Say, listen, Loki… the boys and I have been talking, and we _really_ want you to come join us. Play some games." He grinned again. He thought he looked like a smooth conman or a law-sayer in court. Loki thought he looked like a pained eel.

"No, thank you," Loki began, trying to ease out from under the older boy's arm. Skirnir tightened his grip.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. We really want you to join in. And do you know why?" He leaned his head toward Loki conspiratorially, and Loki raised one resigned eyebrow.

"Because you're thirteen and quick and I'm eleven and scrawny and you can get easy pleasure out of pummeling me into the ground?"

"Noooo, of _course_ not," Skirnir simpered, beginning to pull Loki around the corner toward the rest of the group. "It's because we want you to feel included, and we're jealous that those books are getting all your attention! We've got to get you out of the library and into the sunlight! I mean, look at you – it's sapping all your color." He reached out and pinched Loki's cheek with a little more force than necessary. The younger boy grimaced but said nothing. "That's what I thought," Skirnir said, tittering to himself and dragging Loki out into the sunlit side of the garden. The other children looked up expectantly, and Skirnir held out his free arm to them dramatically. "Hey, everyone, look who I found! And I think he wants to play!" With a shove to the center of his back, Skirnir sent Loki stumbling into the middle of the group. His breath hissed out angrily between clenched teeth as he almost dropped his book.

"Watch it…." His dark eyebrows came crashing together, and the words were almost a growl. The children made a collective gasp of mock fear, and Skirnir nearly choked on a laugh that was too big for his throat.

"Oh, YES, your HIGHness!" he chuckled. "I'll be sure to!" He kept laughing as Loki deposited the book on the end of the bench beside Hermod. For a moment, he locked eyes with his half-brother, and then Hermod looked away, a silent declaration that Loki was out of options. With a sigh, Loki turned around. There was a plan beginning to form in his brain, but it was risky at best, and it all hinged on him surviving the "game" long enough to put what he had learned into action.

"One condition, Skirnir," he began. "I pick the game." It was a long shot, but it was his only chance. The rest of the children looked expectantly at Skirnir, who gave consent with a miniscule shrug of one bony shoulder. Loki's mouth twitched with something like a grin. It just might work.

"A wrestling match, brother!" Thor nearly shouted, hopping up from his seat on the grass.

"Only if he has a death wish," Brynhild answered snidely. "How about a sword battle, you and I? I'll even let you pick the terrain and your weapon."

"Spear throw," Hodur suggested. "Accuracy at a hundred paces." The other children exploded in laughter, and Hodur's smile spread all the way up to his eyes, which were milky and sightless. "What? It's a fair fight. I can't see and he can't throw! Hahahaha!" Across the circle, Vidar nudged Baldur with his elbow, raising an eyebrow and making a gesture with a waving hand. Baldur nodded at him.

"Yes, I agree! You should have a contest with Vidar – see who can remain silent the longest!" That one got another rousing laugh, and Vidar grinned his usual silent grin. Then Baldur continued, "But seriously. What about boxing?" He put up both fists, which were much bigger than Loki's even though Baldur was the younger of the two.

"Hand to hand combat," murmured Hogun.

"A drinking game?" Fandral smirked.

"Wrestling, brother! WRESTLING!" Thor was practically jumping, and Hogun pulled him down by the seat of his pants. Loki's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. There was only one game that could possibly make his plan work.

"You," stated flatly, pointing at Skirnir. "You, Hermod, and I. A race." Behind him, Hermod's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. Skirnir chuckled, and then stopped as he realized Loki wasn't joking. His long arms crossed in front of his narrow chest and he tilted his head to the side, studying the young prince's face.

"A race?" he quizzed. "Against me?"

"And Hermod," Loki finished. Skirnir laughed uproariously.

"Why? So you can come in _third_ instead of _second_? That's… Hahahaha! That's ridiculous!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and his laughter descended into something resembling a croak. Loki smiled coldly.

"At least with Hermod in the race, I can lose honorably." His eyes flicked back to where Hermod sat on the bench, looking up at him with a mixture of horror and respect. "And who knows. Maybe he'll beat you this time, so at least someone can have that pleasure." He took a few steps toward Skirnir, who had now dropped to the ground and begun rolling with laughter. "Well? Yes or no." Skirnir looked up at him and the laughing died down into coughing as he pushed himself up onto one arm.

"All right…. Haha! Okay! Terms and conditions?"

"Around the palace. The whole palace, including the stables. Once around, first one back here to the bench wins. Brynhild is the official referee. Whoever's hand she sees touch that stone seat first is the winner, no questions. Agreed?" He held out his hand, both to pull Skirnir up and to accept his agreement to the terms. The older boy stared at him incredulously for a moment, some of the smirk dropping off his lips, and then he slapped his long, bony hand around Loki's delicate digits.

"All right, your Highness. Once around the palace. Let's go." He pulled himself up and dusted off his tunic, and Hermod got up off the bench to join them. Hitching up her dress, Brynhild climbed up onto the bench for a better vantage point as the boys lined up in front of her. Thor pushed through the other children and grabbed Loki by the shoulder.

"Brother, you should have wrestled with me," he whispered. Loki shook off his hand with an irritated shrug.

"Why, so I could lose in thirty seconds as opposed to a few minutes?" His eyes flashed a cold green, and his brother sighed.

"Because I would be sure I didn't hurt you. You don't have that guarantee with Skirnir."

"I don't need you to baby me, Thor," Loki hissed. "Not unless I'm in real trouble. If you really wanted to help me, you could have told Skirnir to leave me where I was and not start all this. But that would make it too obvious that you were helping me, wouldn't it? You wouldn't keep me out of the battle. So now that I'm in the battle, let me fight it like a man." He glared at Thor for a moment with eyes like glaciers, and then his brother nodded softly. There were few things Loki ever said that made sense to Thor, but when someone needed to prove their worth in battle, _that_ he understood. Thor backed away to stand with the others, and Brynhild raised her arms above the three racers' heads.

"All ready?" she chirped. Hermod nodded; Skirnir gave a snarky, "Aye, Madam!" which got him a glare from the referee; and Loki stared directly ahead, not moving a muscle as he murmured, "Yes." He fixed his concentration directly ahead, not allowing himself to think about anything except how to keep pace with his opponents long enough to reach the northwest corner of the palace – halfway around. That's when the thinking would begin. Until then, he must only run. Run and remind himself that this time, he would not lose. His eyes narrowed to slits as he waited for the signal.

"GO!" Brynhild's arms came down like axes, and as soon as the three boys began running, the others began whooping and calling like wild animals, trotting off after them as far as the corner of the palace. There they stood, hopping and waving, as they watched the racers head off through the southeast gardens. Hermod was in the lead immediately, being the better sprinter, but they all assumed they would see Skirnir take the lead in the home stretch, coming round the back of the palace; he had greater endurance and was the older and stronger of the two.

Loki losing was, of course, a given. But the race between the other two might prove at least somewhat interesting.

As they passed the orchard gate and headed toward the end of the gardens, Loki began to feel his disadvantage. He was small, his stride nowhere near the length of Skirnir's, and no matter the strength or speed of his legs, he simply wasn't covering the same amount of ground. But up ahead, Loki saw his chance – obstacles. People, to be more precise. It was the one way his smallness could be useful. This part of the gardens was always swarming with groundskeepers and strolling ladies and courting couples, and the runners would have to dodge them all to keep up their stride. Loki could avoid them easily, dipping in and out and between like his pet mockingbird, Rúni. Hermod was graceful, and could probably manage to miss most of them. But Skirnir, with his long, awkward limbs and wide, galumphing stride wouldn't be so lucky. Loki let his concentration wander just long enough to look up at Skirnir, running about ten yards ahead of him. He jumped over a pile of new flower-bed edge stones, barely managed to avoid the groundskeeper who was laying them, and then stumbled at the edge of a path, tripping directly into Idun as she headed for the orchard. She shrieked and flung him to the side, where he had to spin to avoid knocking over Frey. He paused long enough to call out, "Sorry!" – and for one brief, glorious moment, Loki pulled ahead of him. The young prince let that sink in, and he felt like dancing. For once, someone was last and it wasn't him. A grin spread over his face, even as Skirnir pulled even with him and retook the lead. They were coming around the front entrance of the palace now, and soon it wouldn't matter who was in the lead. It would only matter that Skirnir was looking ahead and not behind. The northwest corner of the palace was usually deserted – nothing there except a path through a grove of willows, shrubs, and mistletoe – and with his opponents facing ahead, he would have a few moments to put his plan into action.

As they came around the north end of Gladsheim, Loki lowered his eyelids almost all the way, leaving only a small slit to see through. He began to focus on the runes. It was a trick he had learned last year while reading an ancient text, full of lore and wisdom brought to Asgard by their former rivals, the Vanir. His uncle Frey, Vanir himself and once a resident of Vanaheim, had translated it for him, and its pages had been full of magical feats that seemed to the Aesir flighty and impractical – but to Loki, it had been a treasure trove. The text had been, like the one he was reading today, a treatise on the use of the runes, those symbols that made up the language of Asgard. Phonetic symbols and a part of the language, in their common usage, the runes also had a deeper significance, what some would call a magical meaning. Loki thought back over that text and the others he had read, and he began to put all his concentration on one rune – ehwaz, the rune of travel and change. He called up its shape in his mind, ran his mind's eye over the contours of the letter, and he felt the tingling begin under his skin. The magic was working. He had only ever tried it once before, over a distance of about five feet, but this was the same feeling as then, and so he knew it must work now. It had to. In his mind he traced the outline of the rune, imagining his body following its shape across the landscape of Asgard to his destination – up one long, straight stroke, to the right down a shorter, slanted line, up and to the right along another short stroke, and then down again along a straight line that mirrored the first. Loki held his breath, felt the tingling under his skin become a rush of motion, and closed his eyes completely as the magic took over.

When he opened his eyes, he smiled, cheeks widening nearly to their limit. He had done it. And now, he waited.

In front of the stone bench at the south end of the palace, the huddle of children jostled each other as they craned their necks to see who would round the northwest corner first. The back side of Gladsheim was the home stretch, and it was a straight, uninterrupted run from the northwest corner to the southwest, where the runners would have to corner round a bush to reach the bench and the finish. Hodur crossed his arms in annoyance.

"Somebody with two working eyes _please_ tell me what's happening." Silent Vidar patted him on the shoulder as Brynhild stretched to her full height on top of the bench.

"Nothing yet…. Oh! Wait, I see them!"

"Well?" Thor barked, his impatience beginning to get the better of him. Brynhild shaded her eyes and marked the runners' positions as they came into the straight.

"Hermod and Skirnir are side by side— No! Skirnir just pulled ahead by probably a foot or two. Hermod got the better start, but I think he's starting to get winded." None of the children asked where Loki was. They all knew. As the runners came closer, they all could see them – Skirnir pulling slowly ahead of Hermod by a foot or two at a time… and little Loki, running steadily but much more slowly about twenty yards behind them. He was doing a bit better than usual, they had to give him that, but there was no way he could win. After a minute or two, the runners were close enough that the other children could hear them panting, and they all ran to the bush at the corner to be closer to the action. Skirnir's face had taken on the look of a rabid wolverine that had scented food; his upper lip was curled upward over a crooked eyetooth in a grimace of imminent victory. A few feet before the turn, Hermod put on an unexpected burst of speed behind him, and as they rounded the bush Skirnir grunted in surprise at finding them even. He would have to launch himself at the bench to get his hand there before Hermod. His sharp hazel eyes quickly sized up the distance. On top of the bench Brynhild tensed up, watching the seat like a hawk to be sure she called the correct hand as the winner. Skirnir glanced over at Hermod to be sure he wasn't trying the same leap; then he tensed his legs and prepared to spring at the bench.

Loki's hand slammed down onto the stone before Skirnir had time to jump.

There was a collective gasp from all present as Loki walked out from behind the bench where he had been hiding and waiting. Skirnir stopped short in complete disbelief and Hermod crashed into his back, toppling over. Everyone looked back at the last part of the course, where – so their eyes had told them – Loki should still have been running. All they saw was a shimmer in the air where his running figure had been. The image he had been projecting there had disappeared. The children were in complete shock, and with the exception of Baldur whispering to the blind Hodur what was happening, no one said a word. Loki drew himself up to his full height, his eyebrows lifting imperiously and his blue-green eyes flashing with the brilliance of complete triumph.

"I believe you have something to announce, Brynhild," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving Skirnir's slack-jawed face. Brynhild's lip quivered. She wasn't quite sure how to call it; Loki had cheated, somehow, there was no doubt about that. But his hand had landed first. Loki caught her expression out of the corner of his eye and cocked his head to the side. "It's in the rules, Brynhild. Like we agreed on. Whoever's hand you saw touch that bench first is the winner. I began the course at the same time and place. And my hand touched first. Do you deny that?" Brynhild shook her head slowly, and Loki's face turned hard. "Then announce… the winner."

"The…" Brynhild murmured, looking nervously at Skirnir's flabbergasted and angry grimace. "The winner… is… Loki." There was a hush over the crowd of children, broken only by Vidar clapping, softly and momentarily. No one else moved. Then Skirnir's expression broke, and he took a huge stride toward Loki, his face glowing with rage.

"You cheated," he whispered hoarsely. When Loki didn't respond immediately, Skirnir's lips curled back from his teeth and he screamed, growling like a dying animal, picking up a rock and throwing it into the bushes. "You… CHEATED!"

"I WON!" Loki yelled in return, getting nose to nose with Skirnir, who backed up a step simply out of surprise. "I won! And maybe it wasn't fair and square, but it never would have been anyway, would it? Even if I could run and keep up, you'd have tripped me at the finish!" He poked at Skirnir's narrow chest with two fingers as he screamed, and each time Skirnir backed up about an inch. "There's only one game any of you ever play, and it's called 'Loki LOSES!' Well today I decided I was tired of losing. Today I picked the game. I picked the one game in which no one would have to touch me or be watching me constantly… and when I was out of everyone's sight, I used rune travel to get back here and leave an image of myself for you all to watch. That's magic, for those of you too stupid to understand. You all pick the games you can win best with _your_ physical skills. Well magic is a physical skill. And I'm the only one of you who can even begin to grasp it. So today, that's the game we played – the one where I win and …you …LOSE. Tell me: how does it taste?"

The two of them stood frozen there for a few seconds, Skirnir looking like a volcano with magma ready to split through a dozen cracks, and Loki staring back, eyes like an iceberg whose edges reflect sunlight like a steel razor. The others watched them apprehensively, unsure of what would happen but very sure that it wouldn't be good. Then without warning, Skirnir launched himself forward and bore Loki to the ground, screaming like a banshee as he wrapped his fingers around the boy's neck.

"THAT'S what it tastes like, you damned little rat!" he croaked, and grabbing a handful of thick dark hair, he jerked Loki's head around and forced his face into the dirt. He had almost dug a hole in the ground with Loki's nose before he let go and flipped him over, straddling him like a horse and pinning his arms under his knees. Loki thrashed and screamed incoherently, trying to buck him off but unable to overcome the difference in weight. He got one arm free and reached up, grabbing a handful of Skirnir's collar and attempting to pull him off balance. He succeeded only in ripping the older boy's tunic before Skirnir had shoved his hand aside; this time Loki felt an added weight, looked over, and realized that Fandral was standing on his palm. Willing himself not to panic, he looked back up at Skirnir. He made eye contact just in time to see Skirnir's bony fist come rocketing into his face.

The first blow struck directly on his left cheekbone, and for a moment his vision was a flash of glowing darkness. That dissipated into blurry daylight as the pain set in, an angry, hot sort of pain that seemed to move like a living creature. Then the second punch hit his right jaw, driving his head back into the dirt, and then a third blow exploded the pain from his cheekbone up into his temple. Loki willed himself not to scream or cry; instead he focused on freeing his arms. If he could get his right out from under Skirnir's knee, he might be able to strike back. It would be awkward, swinging upward, and he was the first to admit that he didn't have the most impressive of punches. But if he could catch Skirnir off guard, he might be able to get out from under him and run. And just run, and run, until he couldn't even see the palace behind him. There was a spruce forest outside the Gladsheim grounds, and a little cave there with an underground spring. They wouldn't find him there. He kept the image in his mind as he jerked his arm, trying to free it from Skirnir's keen kneecap. The older boy wasn't aiming anymore, his rage overtaking his strategy, and one of his blows grazed Loki's eyebrow, reopening a cut that hadn't yet healed. Blood ran into Loki's eye, coloring his vision. Skirnir became the image of a fire-giant, hovering over him in a red haze like the land of Muspelheim, fighting with fists instead of Surtr's flaming sword. For a moment Loki entertained the terrifying thought that he would never get free – that he would lie there on the ground having his face bashed in until he died. Or until Ragnarok. Whichever came first. Then he felt Skirnir's knee slide ever so slightly off his wrist. He seized his chance and yanked his arm.

_WHAM!_ Skirnir nearly fell backward in shock as Loki's fist came flying up at him, raking across his mouth and loosening his crooked eyetooth. He wasn't exactly shaken by the blow but he jerked away from Loki's arm range, and that was all the chance Loki needed. Feeling the weight of his opponent shift to one side, Loki rolled with all the force he could muster and began crawling, digging his hands into the dirt in an attempt to drag himself to safety. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding from Skirnir's teeth, but he barely felt anything. He could lick his wounds later, but only if he got away. He scrambled across the grass toward the gap between the legs of Vidar and Baldur and almost made it through.

Then Skirnir recovered himself and latched onto Loki's ankles.

It was when he felt himself being jerked backwards, back into the circle and into Skirnir's rain of blows, that Loki finally began to panic. Skirnir yanked him up off the ground, tearing the seams of his tunic as he flung him at Fandral, who caught him in a vise-like grip. Fear took over, and Loki lost all ability to strategize or think. He just wanted it to end.

"Stop! Please…." He coughed, realizing then how badly his lip was swollen. Fandral only adjusted his grip. Skirnir brushed sweaty ringlets out of his face as he clenched and unclenched his fist, approaching Loki with a frenzied look on his face.

"Hold him, Fandral!" he grunted, and then drove his fist directly into Loki's stomach with all the force of his jilted pride. This time he didn't pause, and his arms worked one after the other like battering rams until Loki's protests became little more than groans. The boy's only defense was to wiggle like a dying fish and hope a few of the blows would glance off. Most didn't. In desperation he threw his head up and back, hoping to catch Fandral across the jaw and surprise him into letting go. As his eyes swung upward he got a good look at the crowd of children encircling them, silent and solemn, and his gaze met that of Thor. He saw there his last chance for escape. He knew he had told Thor that he didn't need his help – unless, that is, he was in real trouble. And he had tried to save himself. But now it was two against one; if that didn't constitute "real trouble," he wasn't sure what would. In between blows he tried to summon up a deep breath.

"THOR!" he called, his neck sore from Skirnir's grip. "Brother! Brother, please! Help me!" This last word was cut off by a swift right hook from Skirnir, who apparently didn't appreciate his victim making so much noise. Loki lifted his head again dizzily and looked for Thor's movement in the crowd. There was none. Thor stood like a statue beside Baldur, staring at Loki and not moving a muscle, his blue eyes glassy and distant. Loki waited, thinking perhaps Thor was biding his time for a more opportune entrance to the fight… and then he watched as Thor averted his eyes, and his heart sank. "THOR!" he tried again. This time his brother didn't even look up. "Thor, please…." He managed to cough it out one more time, but he knew that no help was coming. He supposed it was the natural order of things – some were strong, and some were weak. Some were the winners and some were the victims. And when the victim was being made a victim… everyone else was obliged to stay out of the way. The rule of children and playgrounds everywhere was not to be superseded – not even by Thor.

In the absence of anything else to say, Loki began to cry.

* * *

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Everything was hazy and dim, trying to turn sideways and move in circles around his brain, but the voice resonated so strongly in the hallway that it penetrated even to Loki's dizzy ears. He tried to lift himself off the floor of the hallway to see who the voice belonged to, but his chin was immediately met by the hard toe of an Einherjar boot, and he fell back. The muzzle was driven solidly into his face and his head bounced hard off the metal wall – not for the first time that day. It hurt too much to move his mouth under the muzzle, but he grimaced with his eyes and wondered again why he bothered to keep himself conscious. Maybe he should just let them beat him to death; it would solve problems for everyone involved.

"STOP that, BOTH of you!" the voice came again, this time closer. The guards took a couple of miniscule steps away from him, and as Loki's head cleared, he recognized the voice's familiar tones. Heavy footsteps approached from the top of the corridor, the kind that walked with unquestioned authority. Frithjofr took advantage of the moment to get in one last kick – his heel jammed directly into Loki's gut – before snapping to attention. Loki's nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe over the muzzle; then he lifted his head with a groan and opened his eyes. In front of him was a pair of all-too-familiar boots, torchlight gleaming dully on the dark grey leather and glinting off the silver trim. His eyes flared softly like a will o' the wisp, and he turned his head back to the wall. _This_ he could have done without. He preferred the beating.

"I told you to stop," Thor growled at the guards, his voice rumbling dangerously. Reaching out a powerful gauntleted hand, he snatched Frithjofr's spear from him and tossed it down the hall. "What part of '_that's enough'_ didn't you understand?" The two Einherjar stood frozen at attention, and Loki noticed from his prone position that Frithjofr's knees were shaky. Njáll stood perfectly still, knowing his companion would take most of the blame simply by nature. Thor glared at them both, his eyes two chips of cold blue granite. "I thought the Einherjar unfailingly behaved with honor. And yet I leave you unwatched with a prisoner for five minutes, and I come back to find you behaving like barbarians. The two of you, against a man who is bound and unarmed? Oh, I'm sure it was a grand display of your manhood." Thor stood there unflinchingly with his fists on his hips, and after a few seconds Frithjofr's eyes dropped, unable to meet the prince's gaze. Njáll looked away and said nothing. With a flourish of his cape, Thor turned his back on them and waved them a few feet away. "You disgust me, both of you. Stand at attention," he grumbled. Then he moved toward Loki. "Here," he murmured, and he began to extend his hand.

_Don't you dare touch me,_ Loki hissed automatically. It came out as a jet of hot breath from his nose, and he flinched away as Thor bent in front of him. Apparently Thor interpreted his look, because he retracted his hand. But he didn't stand up or move away.

"Are you all right, brother?" he asked, a bit of hesitation under his air of command. Loki only glared at him, fixing him with those cold, pale green eyes that had always mystified him, even in childhood. There never seemed to be any way of knowing what was going on behind them. He glanced over Loki's face, checking for injuries since the prisoner didn't seem too keen to point them out himself. He wasn't bleeding anywhere Thor could see, although the gash on his forehead, which he'd gotten during their battle on Midgard, looked like it had reopened and might start bleeding again – the same for the cut across his nose. Mostly he saw what would be bruises, and who knew what other injuries were covered by the muzzle. He would have to have someone take it off temporarily and treat his wounds. Thor sighed, then he tried again, holding out his hand. "Loki, let me help you up."

Loki cast his eyes down at Thor's hand disdainfully, as though it were crawling with some kind of plague. _Oh, really?_ he sneered mentally, glancing down at his own manacled wrists. _Because clearly, I have _so_ many free hands with which to grab hold of you. And this is like you, isn't it? My… big… __brother__. Always right there to make sure little Loki has all the help he needs, the poor baby. Isn't that right? _He raised an eyebrow at Thor, who – although he had never been the most perceptive sort – understood his drift. It was an argument they'd been through before. Thor had never given him credit for being able to take care of himself – except, of course, when he was being double teamed and needed help the most. Loki's eyes narrowed, a look which told Thor in no uncertain terms, _Get your paws off me, I can get off the damn floor by myself. _Thor backed away a few inches, and Loki rolled stiffly onto his knees, an elbow against the wall for leverage. He had managed to heave himself up onto one knee before he realized how badly it was bruised – possibly even cracked, he would later decide. He let out a groan that was muffled by the muzzle and almost toppled over again. Thor's mail-encased arm was there to break his fall.

"This is ridiculous," he seethed, digging his fingers into the folds of Loki's clothing and pulling him up from the floor bodily, ignoring his grunts of protest. "I'm having those two vultures over there tried before the council for mistreatment of prisoners, and then I'm personally picking new guards to oversee you. They could have crippled you. What did they hit your knee with, their spear butts?"

_The __floor__, o great wise one,_ Loki thought snarkily, and he flicked his eyes downward. Thor caught his meaning. If he caught the sarcasm, he must have ignored it.

"This is unacceptable conduct for an Einherjar. Or for any warrior of Asgard. I'm going to have someone come to your cell and look you over, make sure they didn't break anything or do any serious damage."

_And exactly what do you define as 'serious?' _Loki snapped, his eyebrow slanting resentfully. _I suppose injured pride doesn't count, right? _He jerked away from Thor's grip, wincing from the pain in his knee but willing himself to stand on his own. Thor reached out with both hands and took him by the shoulders. He turned his face, but Thor followed it with his own.

"Loki…" he began, gripping Loki's shoulders tighter when he couldn't get him to look him in the eyes. "Loki, you're here for justice, not to be thrown to the dogs. I'm not going to let this happen again. No one touches you without my permission. Do you understand?"

Loki understood. Thor was protecting him, the way an older brother should.

_Fifteen years too late, your Highness. __Fifteen__ years too late. _Loki's lip curled bitterly under the muzzle as Thor led him down the hall to his cell and opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, readers! I can't guarantee all the chapters will come up so quickly, but for those of you waiting, here's chapter 2. Just a few notes - all the runes I use are based on the Elder Futhark (the oldest of the Runic alphabets), which is more appropriate for Asgard but may not be the one everyone is most familiar with. Also... any character names not from the films I have taken directly from mythology and the Old Norse language - no comic influence whatsoever. Sorry if that bums out any of you comic fans. =/ And I have tried to standardize my spellings based on my knowledge of the Elder Futhark and its pronunciations. Please review!**

* * *

2

"Is he coming to dinner tonight?" Hnossa's mass of bright blonde curls bounced like springs as she lifted her head from the platter she was polishing. Across the table, her friend Sigyn was staring down at two large bowls, trying to decide which one would look best with the place settings.

"Who, Thijalfi?" Sigyn asked absently, turning the bowls sideways to look at the designs around the rims. "I don't think so. He only comes when I beg him. What do you think, is this one too big?" She brushed a ringlet of dark blonde hair out of her face and held up one of the bowls.

"Yes," Hnossa answered promptly. "Your mother will say it's gaudy. And he doesn't sound like much of a boyfriend."

"He is NOT my boyfriend, Hnossa," Sigyn snapped immediately. "Or my lover, or my paramour, or my champion, or my future husband, or any of the other epithets you so often ascribe to him." Shoving the gaudy bowl back into a spruce chest, she set the other in the center of the table with a decided _thump_. "Thijalfi is just a very good friend who has dinner with me sometimes so I don't have to eat alone with my mother. Just like you have dinner with me all the time, for the same reason."

"Yeah, remind me why we do that, again?"

"Would _you_ want to eat alone with my mother?" Sigyn asked, one eyebrow raised. Hnossa snorted.

"Not for Andvari's entire hoard. I stand corrected. The lady has a point. Now let's get these dishes decided on and placed correctly before Mother Dearest comes home and tells us to start over because we picked the wrong ones." Both girls giggled at that, but uneasily. Solveig was known throughout Asgard as a powerhouse of opinions; some graciously called her a "meticulous manager." Sigyn's friends referred to her as the Dragon-Lady. While that was a habit she had tried to squash, Sigyn couldn't help but agree with them. Her mother had a history of making life extremely difficult if not downright painful, especially for a young girl of Sigyn's temperament. Solveig and her daughter couldn't have been more different if they were from different realms (and Hnossa often pointed out that that was probably the case, with Solveig most likely coming from the frozen wastes of Niflheim). Restrained, unflinching, fastidious, and sometimes cold, she had somehow given birth to a daughter who clung to flights of fancy and hopeless romanticism as rigidly as Solveig clung to her high demands. The result was a household that was both mercilessly efficient and highly volatile, with Sigyn and her mother mixing (or not mixing) like sodium metal and water. Sometimes there were only sparks. Other times there were full-blown explosions. It was usually just better to go with the flow, Sigyn had discovered, and do whatever excruciating task Solveig set for her rather than face her wrath. Today was one of those days. Solveig had assigned Sigyn and her best friend ("I guess I'm just collateral damage," Hnossa had said) to pick out the place settings for a nice dinner that evening; as usual, Solveig would have nothing to do with the grand dinner everyone else was having in Gladsheim palace, and she was taking her dinner at home with her daughter. Tonight was going to be special, however, as Solveig had invited her favorite nephew Njáll to come dine with them. Njáll had earned his favorite status by being the only member of the family who appreciated what he called "his aunt's particular nature." Sigyn thought it was because he was just as much of a tyrant as her mother. _Vultures of a feather flock together_, Hnossa had always jibed, and Sigyn agreed; it was a pretty valid summation of the relationship.

"I just wish there was a way to get out of this and have dinner in Gladsheim like everyone else," Sigyn sighed as she pulled the fancy set of goblets out of the spruce chest. Hnossa struck a pose, shoving her nose up in the air and imitating Solveig's voice with a precision gained from years of practice.

"But Si_gyn_, my _dar_ling, why in the name of _O_din would you want to be like everyone _else_? It's so… common! Ugh!" She nearly broke character as a laugh threatened to well up in her throat, but she bit her lip and went on. "Don't you see, dear? Why go and eat with everyone _else_ like a pig at a trough when you could be a cold and frigid but very sophisticated old _hag_ like me?" This time she did lose it, and both she and Sigyn collapsed into helpless giggling. Sigyn buried her face in a folded up table-runner, coming back up with a sigh.

"Ugh…," she groaned, eyeing the half-set table. "Hey, what if I went out to get more apples from Idun and somehow… got… _lost_… on my way back from the orchard?" She raised her eyebrows at Hnossa hopefully, and her friend chuckled.

"Personally, I'd go with _kidnapped_. She's more likely to believe that one."

"That's true. She always was a bit paranoid about people running off with me if I left her sight for five minutes. Hmm…." Sigyn tossed the runner onto the table and picked up the fruit bowl, staring at her muddled reflection in the beaten gold surface. "I wonder if there are any helpful frost giants out there who wouldn't mind kidnapping me temporarily. Just until after dinner."

"After _dinner_?" Hnossa quipped. "Why not until after you're married or she's dead? Then you could avoid all these dinners entirely."

"Hnossa…."

"Oh, alright. I won't kill her off in my stories anymore," Hnossa promised. "But the marriage option still stands. Hey, maybe you can get kidnapped by an elf and marry him. I hear Alfheim is lovely."

"If that's the plan," Sigyn began, coming around the table with the fruit bowl, "then why not just marry the frost giant from the first idea and be done with it?" She grinned impishly as she began transferring Idun's golden apples from the cupboard into the bowl. Hnossa didn't return her smile.

"Don't go there again, Sigyn. It stopped being funny a long time ago." Her look was flat, but more worried than angry. Sigyn's lip twitched as she started to reply, but she stopped as one of the servants entered at the far end of the dining room.

"She's right, milady," he murmured with his head slightly lowered. He hadn't needed to eavesdrop to know what conversation he had walked into; it wasn't a new discussion. "It's best if you don't even joke about frost giants in this house. Not anymore." Picking up the table runner, he unfolded it and began to line it up on the long dining table, talking as he worked. "You know how your mother gets when someone so much as mentions frost giants—"

"Especially a certain despicable, treacherous former prince frost giant, who I know is _exactly_ who you were thinking of when you said that," Hnossa cut in, and the servant nodded.

"And it just doesn't do to be making jokes about getting kidnapped by one after everything that's happened," he said politely but firmly. Sigyn sighed, her brows coming together in a pout she had been perfecting since childhood. They were right, of course. She _had_ been thinking about him – when did she ever think of anything else? – and it _was_ stupid, especially since her mother could walk in at any moment. And then, _oh_, the rant that would ensue. Sigyn knew from experience; getting her mother started ranting about frost giants and traitors to Asgard was a recipe for trouble.

"I know, but—"

"And besides," the servant went on, quelling her protests before she started them. "Today is already going to be worse than usual. Or hadn't you heard?" Both girls looked at him quizzically, and Hnossa shook her head, sending her pile of curls into a fit of swinging.

"Heard what?"

"Thor came home from Midgard last night," the servant replied, smoothing out the wrinkles in the cloth. "Went straight from seeing Heimdall down to the cells under Gladsheim. He brought _him_ back. The traitor."

"Loki's back?" Hnossa started to say. Her words were cut off by a sharp crash as Sigyn dropped the fruit bowl, spilling the apples all over the floor. She was out the door before the others could even turn around.

* * *

"Be careful, now, don't spill them!" Idun beamed sweetly as she put the bowl of apple pieces down in the middle of the circle of children. She had made sure to cut them just the right size for the toddlers' still-uncoordinated hands. Her bright blue eyes flickered with amusement as she watched the gaggle of little ones dive at the bowl as if Ragnarok were upon them and these were the last bites of food in the Nine Realms. And just as she had predicted, someone slapped instead of grabbing and the bowl flipped over itself, spilling glowing apple slices all over Gladsheim's porch. The boy who had caused the spill crossed his arms in a huff, and Idun stifled a laugh. The other children weren't so tactful.

"It your fault," Hnossa sniggered, nibbling at her slices as daintily as a five year old could. "You da one dat knock dem over." Beside her, her best friend Sigyn clutched a doll to her chest and laughed softly. Idun nodded and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Hnossa's right, Hugleikr. You shouldn't pout; you weren't careful, and you see what happens when people aren't careful?" Hugleikr still sat huffily, but his pout softened under Idun's warm look. In the absence of an answer, Hnossa replied for him.

"Yeah, stuff go _CRASH_!" She flailed her arms wildly to demonstrate, and combined with the wild mass of blonde frizz on her head, the effect was rather like a five-year-old incarnation of insanity. Sigyn pulled her doll closer to her chest, away from her friend's waving limbs.

"Hnossa…" she admonished. "She said be caweful! You' gonna huwt my new doll." As she pulled it even further away from Hnossa's reach, Hnossa immediately sat still and began looking the toy over.

"When you get dat one?" Sitting up on scraped knees, Hnossa leaned over to get a better view, and Sigyn held the doll out in her lap.

"Mummy gave it to me last night. It's old. I think maybe it was hers when she was little. Anyway, she made a new dwess fo' it and now it's MY doll." Sigyn smiled down at the doll almost reverently, appreciating her new plaything in the worshipful way that only a small child can. Its face was made from polished ivory with a thinness and brilliance like glass, and the features of its face were inlaid with finely beaten gold. The fine silk fibers of its hair were a pale yellow the color of fresh cream, matching that of its owner, and its eyes were made from two chunks of blue crystal set deep into the ivory. The only flaw was its dress – the one Solveig had hastily sewn for it after finding its original garment too old fashioned and dusty. The new frock she had made for it was pretty enough, but it didn't fit the doll quite right – it was just a shade too tight, with straight seams and plain panels that didn't fit the contours of the doll's stuffed body, and the result was that none of the doll's joints could bend as far as they were meant to. Sigyn wanted to find Vjofn (so she had named her) a new, fancy dress – one that fit the way it was supposed to fit – and Hnossa's dolls had plenty, but Solveig had sewn the doll into the dress, and Sigyn couldn't get her mother's stitches undone. She was busy showing this problem to Hnossa as Idun dismissed the children to go play after their snack.

"Now all of you, listen," she simpered, ignoring Hugleikr's tugging on her dress. "I want you to find a nice, safe place to play until it's time to go home, all right? Do you remember the rule?"

"Don't go anywhere Lady Idun wouldn't go…" murmured the pack of toddlers with varied levels of linguistic development.

"That's right. Don't go any nasty, dangerous places like the stables or out on the Bifrost. I'll come get you when play time is over. Do you all understand? And _yes_, Hugleikr, I'll cut you another apple slice. Just follow me to the orchard. Do any of you want to come play in the orchard?" A few of the other children toddled off after Idun and Hugleikr in the direction of the orchard, while a handful of others defected to go make mud pies in the flowerbeds at the front of the palace. Sigyn and Hnossa remained sitting on the top of the palace steps, where they had a good view of the palace grounds and the Bifrost and (more importantly) an excellent stage on which to play with Sigyn's doll. Sigyn walked the doll up the wide, gleaming steps to Hnossa's knee and tilted her as though she were looking up into the girl's face.

"Hi, guard. Can you let me in the thwone woom please? I need to talk to the All-Fathew. It's impowtant."

"No," Hnossa snapped, crossing her arms and making her biggest, meanest Einherjar face (which looked a little like she had swallowed a crab apple). "You can't go in dere. Nobody 'llowed."

"How come?" Sigyn and her doll asked, and she bounced the doll to show its disapproval of the situation. Hnossa's pudgy hands went straight to her hips.

"'Cause I da Einherjar, an' I say so!"

"But I need to ask the All-Fathew something," Sigyn made the doll protest. Hnossa shook her frizzy blonde head.

"Uh-uh. I not let nobody in."

"Well…" Sigyn pondered, then she (and the doll) were struck with inspiration. "Then I'll just go awound you." And with that, she began marching the doll in a wide circle around Hnossa's feet. The little guard would have none of that, and she promptly stood up, spread her stance wide, and made herself as imposing as possible.

"Nuh-uh. Nobody go around da Einherjar. Ever!" She glared down at Sigyn, who looked up at her blandly for a moment before countering with one thin eyebrow raised.

"Your kinda showt fo' a Einhewjar." And she shook Vjofn as if to imply the doll was giggling along with its owner. This took all the wind out of the miniature Einherjar's sails, and Hnossa sat back down with a plop.

"I wanna play somethin' else. Dis no fun anymore."

"How come?" Sigyn quizzed, pulling the (now inanimate) doll into her lap. Hnossa made a face.

"'Cause you gots a doll an' I don't got a doll an' I don't wanna be a Einherjar no more!" Unperturbed by the sudden cessation of their game, Sigyn hugged her doll and thought of what they could play instead. Her eyes roamed around the palace steps until they came to rest on the flower beds.

"We could go play down there…" she pointed, and Hnossa followed her finger. Behind the thick bushes at the corner of the palace steps, the twins Eindridi and Einarr were building a rather lopsided tower out of mulch. They were scrawny boys even for their age, and generally more given to playing off by themselves than with the crowd – it made their odd habit of speaking their own twin language much more convenient. Hnossa grimaced.

"Eeew," she gagged. "Boys. Don' wanna play with boys. Dey yucky. Dey got nasties on dem." And she stuck out her tongue to punctuate the statement. Sigyn tilted her head.

"No, they're not. Boys awe fun. And some of them awe weally cute." She grinned at her friend, whose eyebrows drew together in confusion as the sentiment Sigyn was expressing whizzed right over her head.

"Yuck," she pronounced firmly, like a king passing judgment that was not to be questioned. Sigyn folded her arms.

"What about the pwinces? They're all cute. I like the pwinces."

"Nuh-uh," Hnossa retorted. "Dey not cute. Dey all like grown-ups. Prince Thor is twelve – dat's like… a MILLION years old!"

"No, it's not. That's like… twelve," Sigyn corrected sardonically. "You need to learn to count."

"Nuh-UH!" Hnossa snapped, her fists going to her hips as she leaned toward Sigyn, an unwittingly perfect imitation of her mother Freya when she was in a temper. "I don' need to learn to count. I can count! I can count all da way up to…." She pondered for a moment, then burst out, "All da way up to forty-eight!"

"That's not a million," Sigyn replied calmly. Hnossa glared at her for a second, not appreciating her friend's nascent sarcasm, and then she reached out and pinched her. Sigyn jerked away. "Hey, no faiw, pinching!" Picking up her doll, she moved about a foot away on the porch, shielding her arm warily against further pinches. Hnossa was about to go in for another grab when she looked up suddenly, distracted by a noise approaching the palace steps.

"Uh-oh," she pouted. "Here dey come." Sigyn followed her gaze. In the courtyard at the foot of the main steps of Gladsheim, the young princes in question were playing some kind of game that involved kicking a ball, and the whole pack of them – Thor, Baldur, Vidar, Hermod, and their non-royal friends Hogun, Fandral, and Skirnir – were moving steadily closer to the palace steps with each pass. Blind Hodur followed along behind the pack, holding onto the sleeve of Brynhild's dress; the girl was giving him a play-by-play of the game while keeping him from being run over or taking a ball to the face, occasionally getting a in a kick at the ball herself. Sigyn and Hnossa watched the group with a mixture of fascination and nervousness. Big kids and their big kid games were a source of a sort of wonder for the toddlers, and they wanted to observe and learn everything they could in the event that they might someday have to interact with these Big Kids without getting eaten. (The thought had not yet occurred to them that in a few short years they would be Big Kids themselves.) As the little girls watched, Vidar attempted to pass the ball to Hogun; Thor intercepted it with a quick lunge to his right and then kicked the ball mightily. In fact, he kicked it a bit too mightily, and the ball arced up and over the palace steps, whizzed between the porch columns, and clipped someone standing in the doorway – everyone heard the faint "Ow!" – before it rolled into the palace entrance hall. The toddlers on the steps stared in awe. Thor grimaced.

"Oops…" he mumbled, and Vidar slapped him on the back.

"Yeah, nice going, Thor," Hermod translated, and Vidar nodded. "Hope you didn't hit anyone important."

"Like Father," Baldur mumbled, remembering the last time Thor had gotten them in trouble with a ball game. Thor winced slightly at the memory, then shrugged. A smirk was playing over his lips as he turned to face Skirnir and the other boys.

"First one to lay hands on the ball gets to control it next round?" he suggested. Hermod grinned, and Skirnir nodded imperceptibly – then the entire pack of them took off, launching themselves up the palace steps in a scrambling free-for-all, trying to be the first into the entrance room to locate and lay claim to the missing ball. The herd almost stampeded right into Sigyn and Hnossa, dodging to the center of the steps at the last minute; then they nearly bowled over Loki, who was coming out onto the porch, rubbing the knot on his forehead from where the ball had hit him on its flight into the palace. He glared at the mob as it disappeared into the dim palace interior, then turned his attention back to something he was carrying in the crook of his arm.

"Dey gone?" Hnossa ventured, peeping out from behind Sigyn. Her friend nodded.

"Mm-hmm. They're all looking fo' the ball. Hey, you wanna go watch them play ball?" She smiled sweetly to temper the suggestion. "I know they're boys, but you don't have to think they're cute. I can do that by myself. You could just have fun and watch them play ball." She smiled again, and held up the doll Vjofn, who was apparently smiling convincingly as well. Hnossa gave the idea all the careful consideration that five year olds give serious matters of playtime; then she let her shoulders droop.

"All right…. But dey're still icky." Having made her pronouncement, she followed Sigyn across the porch to the grand doorway. Prince Loki was there, leaning against the doorjamb, still obviously focused on whatever he was holding. Hnossa stopped automatically before reaching the doorway, as if waiting on his permission to go through. He was, after all, the prince, and giving or denying people permission to enter the palace seemed like something princes should do. Sigyn, however, had no such qualms; she toddled up to Loki and tugged on the leg of his pants.

"Hmm?" Loki started, jumping as though he had been shot and then trying not to look startled. He glanced around and, finding no one at his height, glanced down. Sigyn was staring up at him with wide, dark blue eyes.

"What awe you holding?"

"Umm," Loki began, as if unsure of whether he should say anything to this little girl or not. Then he turned his arms toward her slowly, secretively, and Sigyn squeaked in delight. Tucked into the warm hollow of the prince's arm was a mockingbird, its eyes half-closed as it attempted to doze off in the folds of Loki's tunic. Its plumage was an ombre palette of grays, ranging from a powdery color on its fluffy chest, up to an ashen hue on its head, and into a deep slate – nearly black on its wings. The dark pinion feathers were broken into segments by random bars and splashes of white. As the prince moved, it woke up slightly, and Sigyn could then see the bright amber of its eyes. When she grinned in appreciation, Loki's gaze softened, and he brought up a finger to stroke the bird's head. "His name is Rúni."

"Wúni," Sigyn repeated, and the prince chuckled at her inability to pronounce the R. He watched her start to reach up to the bird, then retract her hand, and he bent down a bit so she could reach.

"Go on," he offered. "You can pet him. He won't mind, as long as nobody touches his leg."

"What's wong with his leg?" Sigyn asked as she touched the bird's head with a timid finger. Loki let her finish petting the bird, then he reached up with his other hand and lifted it so that he was cradling its body, letting its feet stick out between his fingers. The problem was immediately evident. While the bird's right leg was that of any normal mockingbird, its left was knotted and shriveled, the claws curled up in what looked like a permanent fist. Loki let the little girl look a moment longer, and then eased the bird back into the crook of his arm, where it promptly snuggled in and tried to doze again.

"He was hurt when I found him," Loki told her, stroking the bird's throat. "I don't know what happened to him, but I picked him up and took him to Eira, and she helped him. There was nothing she could do about the way it was bent up, but she healed all the cuts and made it stop swelling."

"Can he fly?" Sigyn asked, wide-eyed with fascination. Loki smiled down at her.

"Yes, he can fly. Too well for his own good, actually," he smirked, scratching Rúni's head good-naturedly. The bird shook his feathers back into place with what looked like mock annoyance. "He can fly, but he has to land on one foot – and he can't perch, because he's off balance. He can't ride on my shoulder or sit on my hand. So when he's not flying, I have to hold him."

"Oh," Sigyn breathed, and the one syllable was full to bursting with meaning that she didn't have the vocabulary for. Loki seemed to catch her drift, though, because he grinned at her and patted her head before turning to go inside.

"You and your friend should go play somewhere you aren't going to be run over by my idiot brothers," he advised over his shoulder. Sigyn nodded silently, watching him walk away with an enraptured glaze in her eyes. Then she began to follow him.

"Hey," she began as Hnossa reluctantly toddled after her. "Hey, Pwince Loki."

"Hmm?" Loki mumbled as they entered the grand hall. Out in the center of the room, Vidar had found the missing ball and the game was back in full swing. Loki kept to the columned shadows at the edges of the room to avoid them, and the two little girls followed his every step.

"Hey, how old awe you?" Sigyn quizzed.

"Ten," came Loki's answer.

"Oh. I'm five. This is my doll. Her name is Vjofn."

"She's very pretty…."

"Yeah. I like her. But her dwess doesn't fit. I wanna get a new one, but I can't get this one off, so she's just stuck in it. Do you like my doll?"

"Mm-hmm…."

"Do you like pwetend games?"

"Sometimes…."

"I like pwetend games. I like pwetending that I'm going to Midgawd and seeing all the little people. Have you ever been to Midgawd?"

"Once."

"What did you do?"

"Father and I went hunting."

"Oh. Did you kill anything?"

"An otter."

"Was it a big otter?"

"Too big," Loki mumbled, looking around for a way to lose the toddlers and finding no escape routes. "Shouldn't you be with Idun?" he asked. Sigyn was completely nonplussed and continued her line of conversation without missing a beat.

"No. She told us to go play. She's taking evwybody home later, but my Mummy's here at the palace, so I can stay until she says we go home. What's your favowite color?"

"Green," Loki murmured, made nervous by the mention of Sigyn's mother. Everyone knew the woman was a terror – she was like all three Norns and a Valkyrie mixed together. And she hated Loki. To be fair, she didn't really _like_ much of anyone. But Loki she hated, for some reason he had never been able to piece together. He doubled his search for escape routes.

"My favowite color is wed," Sigyn was saying, "because that's the color of wedding dwesses. I like wedding dwesses. They're pwetty."

"Mmm…" was the only response Loki could think of. He looked over Sigyn's shoulder at Hnossa, who was staring at Loki sadly as if she were looking at a rabbit caught in a trap.

"What's your favowite game to play?" Sigyn asked, swishing her skirt. Loki stifled a grimace.

"I like puzzles," he said finally, hoping she would run out of questions.

"Oh. I like puzzles too. And I like to play with my doll. I like ball games sometimes, but not always. Do you like ball games?" And then, as the question left her mouth, Sigyn glanced over at the other princes playing their game and one pale eyebrow lifted. She turned back to Loki and looked at him quizzically. "Why awen't you over there playing with the othew boys?" Her dark blue eyes scanned Loki's bright green ones, and under her gaze, his expression changed from amused annoyance to a stony mask.

"For reasons I hope you never understand," he answered cryptically, and then without saying goodbye or ending the conversation, he walked swiftly away, disappearing into one of the corridors off the entrance hall before Sigyn had a chance to follow. The girls watched him go; then Hnossa crossed her chubby arms.

"Well dat was rude. He wasn't very nice to talk to. SEE, I TOLD you dat boys was icky." And at this last, she turned snippily to Sigyn and made a face. Sigyn looked submissively down at her doll's face, fingers poking at the dress stitching, but her eyes were lit up in mild defiance.

"No, they awen't," she mumbled, her glance flickering upward in the direction of Loki's departure. "An' he wasn't wude. He just didn't want to talk anymore." She was trying not to meet her friend's gaze, but Hnossa could see the corners of her lips beginning to twitch in a smile. "He was cute."

"EEEW," Hnossa grunted, screwing up her face as though she had just smelled a skunk. "You don' make any sense, Sigyn. He's yucky. I mean, dey all yucky, but he's just….weird." Her little milk-pale eyebrows crunched together as she struggled to adequately describe Loki through her limited vocabulary. At five, she didn't have the right words to explain Loki's essential _different-ness_, his unsettling dislike of what she had learned to be normal, and his odd way of never seeming to be part of the landscape of Asgard as others seemed to; so she repeated the only word she knew that came close. "_Really_ weird."

Beside her, Sigyn kept looking down unassumingly at Vjofn's ivory face, smiling a secret smile that only the doll and its owner fully understood.

"WHAT in the name of ODIN is going ON here?!" The whole pack of young heads in the great hall snapped up to attention as the screech echoed off the smooth bronzed walls. Sigyn and Hnossa ducked behind a column in terror as Sigyn's mother, Solveig, swept into the room like a mounted Valkyrie. The boys immediately stopped their ball game, and suddenly the only audible sound in the room was the quiet _tap-tap-tap_ of the ball bouncing away from Skirnir's now-frozen hands. Solveig's eyes flashed with righteous indignation as she scanned the boys' faces. "Someone, PLEASE explain to me what is going on!" she demanded, her voice a crisp staccato in the silence. "Playing ball in the grand entry room of Gladsheim? Have you children no better place to play, that you think it appropriate to take your _OUTDOOR_ games inside the All-Father's palace? Well?" Her eyes interrogated them, weighed them, measured them, and found them wanting. As she brought her hands decisively to her hips, Thor caught sight of her long, talon-like fingernails and gulped.

"W-well, My Lady Solveig," he began, trying to drum up all the fancy words of diplomacy he had learned from his father. None of them sprang to mind; as usual, his only easily-accessed thoughts were those involving smashing the problem into the ground. And he couldn't very well do that to Solveig – even _he_ wasn't willing to risk a try at that.

"NONE of your excuses, Prince Thor," Solveig snapped, and Thor's mouth closed on instinct. The woman then reached out a commanding hand to the boys. "Give me that ball." Her fingers seemed to have a frightening magnetism, and although several of the boys looked at each other disapprovingly, and Brynhild mouthed _Don't do it_, Vidar seemed powerless to resist as he picked up the ball from where it had come to rest at his feet and handed it over. Solveig tucked it under her arm and glowered at them in quiet triumph. "Now," she pronounced, "let's see if you can't learn some respect and play your _violent_ little games elsewhere." Having thus passed judgment, she marched quickly out of the room in the direction of Fensalir, Queen Frigga's private wing of the palace. The boys tracked her exit in stunned silence, feeling like villagers left to rebuild in the wake of a blizzard.

"Good job, your _High_ness," Skirnir smirked.

"Yes, _now_ what?" Fandral prodded. Beside him, Vidar nodded in annoyance and laid a heavy hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor brushed them away.

"Hey, it was not my fault! You can't argue with Solveig!"

"Yes, but you decided to play inside," Baldur pointed out, and beside him, Hogun stroked his chin in thought.

"And you kicked the ball in here."

"And now _she_ has it, and for all we know, we may never get it back," Brynhild added. As the tide turned against his argument, Thor made his most commanding face and held up his hands.

"All right, all right. My fault. So let me figure out where we can get something else to play with, and we'll go back to the orchard. All right? Everyone agreed?" As the little congress of children began discussing the best substitute for their ball and where such things might be obtained, Sigyn and Hnossa decided it was safe to venture back into the open. They tiptoed along the wall like mice, skirting the Big Kids and listening to their discussion with wide-eyed interest.

"She shoudn'a took de ball from dem," Hnossa murmured randomly. Sigyn paused for thought, bemused at the idea of someone questioning the actions of the force that was her mother.

"Why not?"

"'Cos," Hnossa grumbled. "She not Thor's mummy. She _your_ mummy. I don' think mummies should tell udder mummies' kids what to do unless _dat_ mummy _tells_ dem dey in charge." Hnossa stomped her foot a little at this pronouncement, and Sigyn let the idea sink in. At five and a half, she wasn't exactly given to abstract thought, but the concept of fairness was one that did make sense in her world, and a tiny part of her brain began to agree with this statement. However, she was not nearly brave enough to begin questioning her mother aloud, so she simply looked at Hnossa with wide blue eyes. Her friend needed no second bidding to continue speaking. "An' besides. Thor is da prince. Dat's kinda like da king. Anyway, it more higher up dan your mummy. So Thor is sorta in charge of _her_. Right?"

"Nobody's in chawge of Mummy," Sigyn mumbled into her doll's shoulder.

"HEY, little girls!" Both toddlers looked up sharply. Prince Thor jogged across the polished bronze floor to where they stood by the wall, blonde hair flopping like the ears of a sheep dog. "Hey, you!" he barked again, this time pointing directly at Sigyn as he herded the girls into the corner. "What's that you've got there?" His eyes indicated the doll in Sigyn's arms, and she instinctively tightened her grip on it.

"Vjofn," she mumbled suspiciously. "She's my new doll." She wasn't sure she trusted this boy with her prize, and she stepped back from him. However, when Thor kept looking the doll over, stepping a little closer as if he wished to see it, the girl's pride in her new possession got the better of her worry, and she held it out timidly for him to view.

"Why, thank you!" Thor quipped, and he snatched the doll roughly from Sigyn's grasp.

"Hey!" Sigyn squeaked, but her protest was drowned out as Thor laughed and turned to the other children.

"Here's something!" he called out, bouncing the doll up and down in his hand like a ball. "It's no good for kicking or rolling, but we can toss it back and forth! Here, Skirnir, catch!" Stretching his arm, he launched the doll across the room – so hard that Skirnir was barely able to snag it out of the air.

"Hahaha! It won't fly straight, it's too floppy!" Skirnir cackled, then proceeded to toss the doll underhanded to Fandral, who dug his fingers into the doll's fine hair and twirled it like a chain or a sling. It flew out of his hands, traveling an odd trajectory, and was barely caught by Baldur, who held it up and regarded it before looking for a target himself. Brynhild crossed her arms.

"This is stupid," she admonished. "You can't use a doll for a ball. Those are not interchangeable items." Beside her, Hodur shook his head.

"You're going to break it," he grumbled, sightless eyes following the doll's precarious flight as if it were they and not his ears marking its motion. Hermod caught the doll as it came down from Baldur's toss, and he gently passed it off to Vidar. Skirnir wouldn't wait for another toss, and he galloped over and yanked it from the silent prince's hands.

"Haha, my turn again!" He held the doll up and waved it like a flag before choosing his target. As he did so, Sigyn let out a little cry of terror and came running in amongst the boys, grabbing wildly at her stolen treasure.

"That's mine, give it back!"

"Hahahaha, Thor, go across the hall!" He motioned to Thor, who took off running to the other end of the entrance room, and then he launched it away just as Sigyn reached him. Seeing Vjofn go flying over her head, she squealed in dismay and began chasing it – reaching Thor just in time to see him throw it back to Skirnir across the room.

"Stoppit!" she yelled. "Give me—"

_CRACK._

There was a collective intake of breath from the group as the sound of tinkling pieces of ivory echoed through the hall. Skirnir quickly tucked his empty hands behind him, as if he could convince the others that it had not been him who had missed catching the doll. For a moment the only sound in the entrance room was Sigyn's stunned silence, louder than any cry she could have made. Then, as the girl's lip began to quiver with the beginning of tears, Skirnir looked up at Thor for affirmation and then tensed his whole body to run.

"This was a stupid game anyway," he mumbled nervously.

"I thought I saw Bragi playing his harp at the orchard gate earlier," Hermod suggested absently, staring at the broken doll pieces on the floor, and Thor reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"An excellent idea, brother," he announced, and that was the cue for the whole group. "Shall we go listen?" was all Thor had to say, and the group took off after him like a herd of panicked sheep. Bringing up the rear with Hodur, Brynhild looked over her shoulder at Sigyn with a minute sadness, and then as their linked forms disappeared into the daylight outside the room was suddenly enormously empty.

Sigyn shuffled her feet as if she were afraid her movement would cause more damage. Vjofn lay in a pile of shattered ivory and gold shards splayed out around the now rumpled and lumpy stuffed body. There were tangles in the fine silk hair, and the skirt was ripped. Hnossa watched her friend's face as she approached the wrecked toy, unsure of what to do next. If Sigyn went into a crying fit, her only recourse was to sit like a statue or to cry with her, and she really didn't feel like crying today. She toddled along behind her friend until Sigyn knelt beside the pile of ivory and stuffing and, seeing nothing else to do, she plopped down beside her.

"They bwoke her," Sigyn mumbled almost as if in disbelief. Hnossa said nothing, because she had nothing to say. Sigyn's chubby little fingers began picking through the pieces of wreckage, trying to find the major components of the face. "Why did they have to bweak her?" she gulped, and now the tears started, coming down her face in little spurts.

"'Cos your Mummy tookd deir ball," Hnossa offered matter-of-factly, which didn't make the situation any more comforting.

"They didn't have to play with MY doll!" Sigyn cried, her face contorting itself into unaccustomed lines of grief. "They coulda found something else, somewhere else to go! She's MY doll. MY DOLL!" At that, she put her little hands over her face and wept, shaking with her first taste of helpless rage at a universe that didn't seem quite fair.

"I can fix it." Both Sigyn and Hnossa snapped up to attention, surprised at finding themselves observed when they had thought they were alone. Prince Loki had come out of a nearby corridor and was approaching cautiously along the wall, thumbs tucked into his belt. He had deposited his pet mockingbird somewhere, and now he came over to the two girls and crouched beside them, eyeing the pile of broken doll parts with something like disgust. He made eye contact with Sigyn, looking for her permission to touch the precious object. Her wide blue eyes were blank with tears and confusion, so he repeated himself. "I said, I can fix it. Her. Whatever. I can put the doll back together. Would you like me to?" For another second or two, the girl's eyes were still blank. Then they lit up like sapphires, and she gazed up into the prince's face like a convert hearing a message of salvation, a look that was something like worship and something like love. She nodded her consent.

"My brothers are all idiots," Loki grumbled as he began gathering up the shards of ivory. "And their friends, too. I told you that earlier. I'd apologize, but there's no apologizing for them. They can't behave like civilized creatures, and they break everything they touch. They'd break the Bifrost, if you gave them enough time and energy." It was only half a joke, and none of the three children laughed. They knew it was probably true. With the girls watching anxiously, Loki gathered all the shattered pieces of the head into one pile and placed it at the neck of the doll's rumpled body. Then he began looking for the pieces of the hands.

"How you gonna fix all dat?" Hnossa ventured, leaning over Sigyn's shoulder. The young prince raised a cheeky dark eyebrow at her and felt the corners of his lips begin to twitch with a grin. He was doing a good deed, but it didn't hurt to show off a little in the process.

"Well," he began, sorting through ivory pieces and trying to give off the air of an expert, "my Uncle Frey's been showing me some magic. With the runes, you know? And… the first thing I learned was restorative magic." He watched their faces, then realized the word _restorative_ might be over the girls' heads and changed tactics. "He taught me how to make things that have been broken or changed go back to the way they once were. Like… a ripped scroll, or… a withered plant, or—"

"A bwoken doll," Sigyn murmured rapturously, her eyes never leaving Loki's face. The prince smiled at her, a smile that started small but then stretched his thin lips up into wide and inviting dimples. She had never seen anything quite so fascinating.

"That's right," he continued, piling the chipped ivory of the hands at each end of the arms and beginning to gather the remnants of the feet. "I'm quite good at it now. Because it was the first thing I learned, you know? Uncle Frey says I have a natural gift for magic, almost like one of the Vanir. There are other things I'm trying now, but this one I've been doing for a long time. The trick…" here he paused to collect the left foot into a pile. "The trick is to place all the parts as close to their original place as you can, and then you invoke the sign of Algiz."

"Huh?" Hnossa quizzed, her head tilting to the side like a fuzzy baby bird. Again Loki smiled.

"Algiz. You haven't learned to write yet, but you will, and Algiz is the rune that makes the _zzz_ sound. Well, runes also have magicks to them. Each one means something bigger than itself. And Algiz is the rune of healing and protection. So you see…." He had finished gathering all the pieces, and now he cupped his hands in front of him. "Now I'm going to use the rune to fix your doll. See how I've laid it out, with its feet together, and its arms spread out?" He pointed, and the girls saw; the arrangement of the doll's body now resembled the forking tread of a bird, with the head and arms forming three prongs and the feet in one line with the body. Loki indicated the shape with a tilt of his head. "That's the shape of Algiz. You don't have to lay the thing out like that, and with some things you can't, but I did that with the doll to give the magic extra strength. First I invoke the magic of the rune through meditation on it—" Here he saw confusion again and changed his words with a smile. "I mean, I call up the magic by thinking about it really hard, and seeing the shape in my head. And then…."

Lowering his voice for effect, he closed his eyes, breathed slowly into his cupped hands, and then placed them over the ruins of the doll's feet. Beneath his fingers, the ivory began to shimmer with a pale phosphorescence, and the girls could hear the faint sound of the pieces rattling against the bronzed floor as they moved back into place. Loki moved his hands slowly up the length of the doll's legs and body, and the glow followed his fingers, licking around Vjofn's form like cold, unburning fire. Everywhere the light touched, the doll's broken pieces miraculously reformed themselves; Loki held his hands a bit longer over the face to make sure it was all correct, and then with a flourish, he whipped his hands away.

Vjofn lay in one piece on the smooth floor, with not even a hairline crack to mark where she had once been broken. Every hair was in place, every gold inlay gleaming in its correct curve, and the crystals of the eyes sparkled freshly in the ivory sockets. Sigyn squealed with delight and moved to grab the doll. Loki's hands met hers and stopped her.

"Wait. Two more things," he murmured, and took the doll up gently. Closing his eyes, he whispered something; then he kissed his thumb and, very carefully, he made the shape of Algiz on the doll's forehead. For a moment the ivory seemed to glow where he touched it, then it faded. The eyes, however, continued to emit a lambent glow from somewhere in the depths of the crystal. "For protection," he explained. "Now I don't think she'll break so easily, no matter what my idiot brothers decide to do with her. And…" The cheeky grin played over his lips again as he reached into his tunic. His hand came out holding a small knife, the kind used more for splitting parchment than anything dangerous. Sigyn looked up at him questioningly, but only for a moment; the realization of what he was doing began to sink in. Turning the doll over on its back, Loki began using the point of his knife blade to snap through the stitching on the doll's ill-fitted dress. A few deft movements of his wrist and the frock was pulled loose. The prince handed her over to her owner and smiled. "There. Now you can get her a new dress that fits, just like you wanted to." Putting away his knife, he turned to go; then he stopped, turned, and reached out to pat Sigyn's head. "Just stay away from my brothers from now on, all right?" When the girls nodded, Loki patted Sigyn's head again and then left, sauntering off down a hallway in the direction of the princes' chambers.

Hnossa raised an eyebrow, thought for a minute, and then decided that maybe she liked this prince, even if he was weird. She nudged Sigyn's arm. "Wanna go back to my room an' play dolls now?" There was no answer. Sigyn was staring in the direction Loki had gone, her dark blue eyes shining with complete and utter devotion.

* * *

"THOR!" The double doors at the end of the hallway slammed open with a resounding _WHAM_, and Thor spun around on his heels at the sound of his name. One look at the figure coming toward him made him double check that the key to Loki's cell was well hidden inside his armor.

"Sigyn," he began in a placating tone, "don't start this today. You know I can't—"

"Out of my way, Thor," Sigyn commanded, pushing past him in the hallway as if it were she and not he with the commanding height and broad, caped shoulders. She had jogged all the way across the city center as soon as she heard about Loki's return, and she was in no mood to play games or negotiate. "I have to see him. Let me in." Thor tried to make a wall of himself between the cell and the petite little woman, but for some reason he found himself feeling a little outmatched. He frowned, trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the little girl he had grown up with. The cream yellow hair had darkened into something like pale bronze, and her face had matured into distinct lines that left no one in doubt of her parentage. For all her kindness and romantic disposition, Sigyn had unfortunately inherited some of her mother's sharp features, and there was a tiny crescent-shaped crease between her eyes that could appear suddenly and without warning when she wasn't getting something she wanted. That crease appeared now, and Thor found it unnaturally intimidating.

"Sigyn, listen to me," he began, trying to regain his air of control. "This is not a game. And we aren't children anymore. Loki is a prisoner. He is my brother, and I love him, but he is still a prisoner awaiting the All-Father's justice, and I can't let his cell become a banqueting hall for receiving guests."

"Even prisoners are entitled to have visitors on occasion," Sigyn retorted, crossing her arms. "And tell me, Thor, how many other visitors do you expect Loki to have? All his crowds of adoring subjects and old childhood friends?" The crease between her eyes sharpened, and Thor saw her point. He could think of no one in Asgard who might want to see his brother – except for their mother, of course, but Odin had forbidden her coming to the cells, at least for a while. And Sigyn, of course. Always Sigyn. Thor sighed.

"It doesn't exactly follow the protocols of the prison," he grumbled, scratching his beard. "You have to realize that I'm not supposed to open that door. For anyone. Except Father. And the guard who feeds him, of course."

"Ten minutes," Sigyn begged. Thor thought about it; it was very definitely against the rules, but then again… he thought of the emptiness he had felt seeping out of Loki's eyes like a disease, and it occurred to him that Sigyn might just be part of the cure. It certainly couldn't make it worse.

"Ten minutes," he relented, and began digging into his armor for the key.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: This is the chapter where the mythology nerd in me really takes over, and so I want to clear up some arguments before I start. First, I chose to make Vidar and Hodur twins (instead of _Baldur_ and Hodur, as in some texts) for multiple reasons; one, they both have a physical deformity, which is likely to happen to twins if there is a problem in utero, and two, we're assuming the Vikings didn't get every detail right when they formed their religion around these Asgardian extraterrestrials. So I think I have a little leeway. =P My second mythos note is that in writing the creation tale I use in this chapter, I relied heavily upon the text of "Norse Stories" (Mabie, Hamilton W. _Norse Stories: retold from the Eddas. _Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1882. Print.), which is a really pretty text (if a bit Anglicized/Christianized). I chose it for the style, not the precision (something Bragi would approve of. =P ) Read and review, please!**

* * *

3

The cell was freezing. Of course, that wasn't exactly a surprise – it was the deepest chamber beneath Gladsheim, practically at the lowest point of Asgard, subject to the leaking in of cold from the depths of space and far removed from the warm glow that lit the city above. But he had assumed that perhaps a bit of the warm air from the corridor outside would penetrate into the room. No such luck. In full dress armor, with something soft to sit on, he might have been almost comfortable. But they had stripped him of his armor, leaving him only the leather trousers and shirt and the thin jacket that had been beneath it. Loki sat on the bare and uninviting floor and pulled his knees up to his chin. Less surface area, less heat loss.

Over the curves of his knees, his sharp green eyes surveyed what pitiful landscape they had to survey. The cell was more or less a box – a featureless container for holding the refuse of Asgard. The walls were straight, smooth metal, without rivet or seam. The floor was the same. There wasn't even an opening in the door, no handle or slot for food; the whole door blended in with the wall. He scoffed. Apparently they would be bringing his food in by hand. That was, assuming they intended to feed him. There was not even an opening anywhere for light. The only source that he could locate was a small cluster of crystals embedded in the corner of the ceiling that gave off a wan, sickly white glow. That would bother him, he thought. He hated not being able to see. Loki held out one of his hands, made the shape of the Kaunaz rune (which had always rather reminded him of a chomping mouth), and then snapped his fingers. A warm little flame appeared out of the air, hovering over his hand. It wavered slightly but didn't flicker; there wasn't enough air flow for that. That helped the light problem but did precious little for the temperature. He cupped his manacled hands around the little flame and tried to warm himself. Just like always, he reflected, trying to grimace behind the muzzle and realizing that one of the Einherjar had split his lip. He was always having to make do with his own resources, create his own warmth, his own cool, his own friends, his own worlds. But that was something he had accepted. The warmth and the cool were there inside him anyway, fighting against each other sometimes but always there for him to call upon. Hot and cold were two sides of the same coin, and they were two very powerful sides of him. He was passionate. That had always been true. His emotions had always burned through him like wildfires, fueling him to action and often leaving him burned in the aftermath. But underneath all that, there had always been a coldness, a creeping ice of the spirit that had come from some part of him he had never been able to understand. Never until he had touched the Tesseract, that is. Then he had understood everything. All too well.

Holding the flame close to his face, a little pocket of warmth in the slow, crawling cold of the cell, Loki closed his eyes and went into himself.

* * *

_"There was a time when none of us had begun to live, and in the vast space where no worlds hung and no heavens shone, there was nothing but the Spirit of the All-Father, solitary and silent in the universe. Then began he to build the nine realms. And far in the north rose Niflheim from the depths, land of eternal winter shrouded in fog and mists. And far in the south rose Muspelheim from the deep, land of unquenchable fire overhung with clouds and fiery sparks, and in its midst, in the blinding heat and light, sat Surtr, guarding its fires with his glowing sword._

_And between the lands of ice and fire lay the great abyss Ginnungagap, black and fathomless._

_And into it the rivers of Niflheim poured, with soundless fury into the dark, and there they hung frozen in masses over the edge. And over the chasm and cataracts swept icy fogs and bitter winds. And into it the sparks of Muspelheim shot, glittering and floating like wandering stars, and the glow sent beams of light into the darkness. And over the chasm and cataracts the flames sent a gleam against the whirling snows._

_And as icy mist met burning spark, they hung and then fell by drops into the depths. And there, _

…out of heat and cold, fire and fog, in the dark of the Ginnungagap, the first giant Ymir grew into life." Frigga's voice had taken on a droning, rhythmic quality as she told the story she knew by heart, as did all parents in Asgard, and as all the children on the floor in front of her one day would. They were spread out on the colonnaded porch on the south end of Gladsheim, her sons Thor, Loki, Baldur, Hermod, Hodur, and Vidar, and a gaggle of their little playmates from various highly favored families. The children all sat wide-eyed, entranced, shivering at the thought of the dark, icy body of the Frost-giant and wondering anxiously what would come next. Frigga smiled, bundled Freya's three-year-old daughter Hnossa further into her lap, and continued.

"The All-Father made there to nourish Ymir the great cow Audhumbla, and while she stood and fed the giant with her milk, she would lick the cold walls of Ginnungagap, which she found covered in salt." There were murmured _Eeeewww_s from some of the children at that, and then they shuffled each other into silence again. "And she licked the stone until straightway the head of a man began to appear. And by the third day, there stood the man, fair of countenance and mighty of stature. Now this was Buri, the first of our kind." She paused again here as the children gasped in surprise and recognition. "And Buri bore a son whom he called Bor. And Bor in his turn bore sons Odin, Vili, and Ve. And these were the first of the gods. And also the giant Ymir bore many sons who—" Frigga paused as a little hand shot up into the air, wiggling with the grave importance that children attribute to their questions. "Yes, Loki?" she prompted. Loki sat up straight, his face an eight-year-old mask of confusion.

"So… we came from a cow… licking a rock?" Frigga sighed as the other children started giggling, and she shushed them with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, Loki. Our ancestor Buri was formed by the sacred cow as she—"

"A cow… licking a rock?" the boy repeated. He was clearly rather unsettled by this, and Frigga hung her head an inch or two. She should have known he would make some comment like this one. Loki had never had much of a knack for accepting things that were awkward but practical. "But…." The young prince struggled to put his thoughts into words, but having not yet learned such vocabulary as _utilitarian_ and _aesthetically_ and _symbolism,_ he was at a loss for how to explain himself. "But that's so… _dull_," were the words he finally settled for. "We came from a cow licking a rock. We're gods in Asgard. Shouldn't we have a more… a more… oss— …awsp—"

"Auspicious?" Frigga offered, and as Loki nodded she wondered where he had learned such a big word. Loki's head bobbed up and down in agreement as he tried to finish his thought.

"Yeah, that! Shouldn't we have a beginning that's more… big, and nice-sounding?"

"We have a fine beginning, brother," ten-year-old Thor replied. "We come from rock. Rock is strong. Rock lasts a long time. Rocks are big, and they can break things."

"But…." Again, Loki was lost for how to say what was in his heart. He wanted to tell them that the story of the Jotun's creation was so much more beautiful – the swirling cold mists meeting the sparkling red embers, diamonds and rubies in the air, combining like magic in a cascade of extreme heat and chill, hitting and crashing to the sky before falling to the canyon floor to come together in the body of Ymir, the ice giving his body strength and the sparks giving him the fire of life. Meanwhile, the story of his own people getting licked out of a rock by a cow…. It was a cold, terribly practical, utilitarian beginning, without beauty or magic to it. It did not inspire; it just _was_. And he did not understand why a dark, unhappy race like the Frost-giants should have a beginning so much deeper and more poetic than the hard and practical creation of the Asgardians. All these things floated through his brain. What came out was, "But the Jotun story is so much prettier. With the mist, and the sparks… don't you think?" He looked around him for someone who agreed; he was met by blank faces.

"Hmph," scoffed Sif, who was busy combing her hair with her fingers and not making eye contact with him. Thor reached out and slapped him on the back.

"That doesn't matter, brother!" Thor declared. "Being pretty isn't useful! You can't build a house with mist and sparks. You can't make weapons of them. What good are they except to look at?" Loki started to answer back when Frigga intervened.

"Thor is right, Loki," she said softly. "We must not let ourselves be distracted by pretty words; we of Asgard are born of strength, like the rock we came from. Beauty is to be appreciated, but it does not serve the same purposes as strength. You must learn this so you will not be swayed from what is good and useful and practical in life by pretty words and grand ideas." As she finished speaking, Loki pulled his knees up to his chin and let himself go silent. He had already learned that sometimes it was better to let the adults win the argument and keep his thoughts to himself. Especially when his thoughts were so different from what he was told they were supposed to be. What good was beauty? It was a question they always ended up asking him, and he had no answer save that it was something that felt right to him. There was some part of him that was never happy with those humble, practical, useful things that so pleased the rest of Asgard. He feasted, and hunted, and fought, and did all those things. And he did them moderately well. And they pleased him moderately, he supposed. But there was always a desire in him for something loftier, something they would call flighty and impractical and pointless. He guessed that was why he liked magic so much. He was like the Vanir in that, he realized; they appreciated practical powers, but there was always room in their magic scrolls for rune castings that were beautiful and flighty, and yes, impractical. His Uncle Frey understood. The rest of the family, however, were not so open to the idea. So he sat with his head perched on his knees, letting his mind float with the mists and sparks in the story as his mother finished her recitation.

"And Ymir grew, in both size and evil…

…_and Odin and Vili and Ve could not live with him in peace. And so they fell upon him and slew him, and his blood poured out like a flood such that all the Jotun were drowned in it. Bergelmir only, and his wife were spared. And they escaped on a chest, and from them sprang the whole race of the Frost-giants…."_

* * *

There was a brief inflowing of warm air from the corridor that would have put out the flame if not for Loki's cupped hands. He looked up abruptly, wondering if he would be reprimanded for his bit of magic. But it wasn't Thor or one of the Einherjar who walked into the cell.

Sigyn stepped timidly through the doorway, the commanding face she had put on for Thor now withering as nervous excitement took its place. She hadn't seen Loki since his short, ill-fated time on the throne of Asgard a year and a half before, and her stomach was positively dancing with anxiety. Perhaps he wouldn't remember her. Or worse, perhaps he would remember her as an annoyance that he wanted rid of. Or – the worst still, she realized as the thought ran through her head, perhaps he wouldn't be the Loki that she remembered. That would be unbearable. Taking a deep breath, she closed the door behind her and looked him over. He was curled up against the wall with his knees pulled in close, a position that belied his true height – he had always towered over her, more than a head taller. Seeing him so low to the floor was in some ways a shock to her system. So were all the gashes and cuts covering his face; he looked like he had been in a battle with a bilgesnipe and lost. His hair was longer now, curling in dark ringlets around the back of his neck and collar; that wasn't terribly shocking, but it gave him a look that was wilder, less controlled. For some reason that idea sent a tingle through her, and she had to try to keep herself from blushing. He looked up at her over his knees and the muzzle, and his eyes flashed a violent green like the lighting that so often touches ships at sea. Then, as he realized who had entered the cell, she watched his eyes soften into the smooth green of the Northern lights, and the face she had known her whole life was there again – bruised, hardened, perhaps somewhat sharpened by life, but there just the same.

Loki loosened his grip on his knees slightly as Sigyn came into the cell, and he let the flame waver, although he did not put it out. This was an unexpected development, he thought. Then he saw the caged excitement behind her eyes and the flush on her cheeks and dropped his gaze. Same old Sigyn, he decided. Not that that was such a bad thing, he conceded – the worst he could expect from _her_ was annoying questions in sequence, and she definitely wasn't there to punish him or belittle him – but she _was_ definitely still the same old Sigyn. The little girl who had attached herself to him and followed him his whole life was now the _young woman_ attached and following, and there was very little difference in the two. He noticed that her hair had darkened, losing that sickly yellow cream color in favor of a more mature bronze. And he noticed that in the years he had been gone, her dark blue eyes had become a little harder, a little stronger – although behind them, he saw, there was still the same old hesitation and fear he had always felt coming off her in waves. _Of course, I'd always be afraid, too, if I had a dragon for a mother…_, he admitted to himself. Then came the unsettling thought that, for all he knew, his mother _might be_ a dragon. _That_ would put Sigyn's problem into an interesting perspective. He chuckled behind the muzzle, a sound that Sigyn interpreted as a cough and which sent her immediately into her mother-bird persona.

"Loki, are you sick?" she gasped out worriedly, not bothering with re-introductions. Loki shook his head softly as she stepped closer to him, clutching at her arms as she realized how much colder the cell was than the hall. "Ooh… it's so _cold_ in here! How are you not frozen solid?"

In an angrier mood, and with the ability to speak, Loki would have said, _Well that's the thing about us Frost-giants, you see… we already _are_ frozen. That's why they have to keep us in the icebox – so we won't melt._ As it was, he decided not to push his luck – she was likely to be his only unarmed and benevolent visitor – and he simply held out his hands, indicating the flame with a tilt of his eyes. The girl nodded.

"Oh, the flame spell! I wish I could learn that one…." She pulled her lips to the side with what he interpreted as frustration, and he raised an eyebrow. Sigyn caught his drift. "Oh, I've been learning some magic! I'm not really gifted with it, like you were, but there are certain spells I do fairly well. It's mostly First-Cycle spells – healing and restoration, those kinds. Eira is teaching me in the infirmary. She says I may only do moderately with the Middle Cycle changing spells, and that I'll probably never be able to use a creating spell, but she says I have a natural gift for healing." She was proud of herself, and Loki let her be. In truth, he was a tiny bit impressed himself. At least it proved that her head wasn't quite so empty as he had sometimes imagined it to be. He leaned his head back to indicate his appreciation, and he felt the validation coming off her in a wave that was almost sickening. He would have to stop being nice at some point, he reflected. It was slowly killing him.

There was a silence in the cell for a moment that was filled with nothing but the two of them simply being, acclimating themselves to each other's presence again after the separation of years. Sigyn was thinking that he had only become more handsome with the passage of time – if it were possible to improve on what had already been there. Loki was wondering what motions he could make to indicate that he'd like her to bring him some food. It was at least an hour past breakfast, and he had missed supper in the process of being dragged back from Midgard the night before. Fortunately, the rumbling of his stomach broke the silence and made the request for him.

"Oh, Loki, are you hungry?" Sigyn said with a concern that almost made him nauseous. "Have they not fed you today?"

_What do you think?_ he said with his eyes, and Sigyn intuitively understood. Her brows creased in indignation.

"This is completely unacceptable," she murmured, turning toward the door. "THOR! Thor, you get in this cell right this MINUTE." Her shout echoed down the hallway, and when Thor stomped in a moment later, followed by a panicked Einherjar (who was obviously expecting to have to rescue the damsel from the villain in the cell), Sigyn made a triumphant face in Loki's direction and then turned on them.

"Wha—" Thor started to say.

"Why hasn't the prisoner been fed? Hmm?" the girl demanded, crossing her arms and eyeing Thor like a general eyeing a new recruit. "You see, Thor? This is why I had to get in here and see him. He would probably have gone hungry all day if I hadn't. And are those the only clothes he has? Thor, it's _freezing_ in here! At the very least, you could give him a blanket and something to lie on at night." Loki watched expectantly for the effect of the girl's words. His brother looked from him to Sigyn and back again, and Loki got the distinct impression that Thor was somehow intimidated by her. Then the prince managed to take hold of the situation and resumed his air of command.

"My apologies, Lady Sigyn. I was unaware that the prisoner had not been fed. Apparently the guard I sent down here to do just that got _sidetracked_." Thor glared at the guard behind him, who cringed away from the prince's reach and dropped his eyes. "And comfort is not generally standard issue in our prisons," he continued, "but I do thank you for making me aware that this cell _is_ far too cold for him to be without some type of provision to stay warm. I'll see to it that he gets the blankets he needs."

"Thank you," Sigyn conceded, a note of victory in her voice.

"Right now," Thor declared, turning his attention from the girl to Loki, "he needs to be prepared for trial. Odin's Council will convene tomorrow morning to hear his case and begin sentencing."

"What is he being tried for?" Sigyn asked, her face seeming to widen with worry. Thor lowered his gaze, trying to look away from his brother but unable to do so.

"War crimes," he growled. "Although I'm in negotiations with Forseti to get that changed a bit." Loki's eyebrow shot up at that, but he didn't make a sound. Sigyn's face was getting more and more worried.

"And what about sentencing?" she asked, completely skipping over the negotiations he mentioned. Thor looked down at her with something like pity.

"I'm not sure yet. In the meantime…." He turned his gaze back to his brother, who was staring at him quizzically over the muzzle. The gashes on his forehead and nose looked even worse in this light. And now, Thor noticed, the tilt of his head revealed a tiny trickle of blood coming out from under the muzzle. The two guards must have hurt him worse than he had imagined. "Sigyn," he began hesitantly. "I may have a job for you after all. Those wounds on his face need to be dressed and treated before he goes to trial tomorrow. I was going to send for Eira, but—"

"Oh, I've been training with her!" Sigyn interjected, reaching out and taking Thor's arm as though they were still children and there were no titles and crowns between them. "I can do healing magic, Thor! She taught me. There's no need to send for Eira, I'll take care of him. May I, please?" She was tip-toeing up to put herself on eye level with him, and Thor smiled, glad to see his idea met with enthusiasm. This would keep him from having to convince anyone else in Asgard to spend time in Loki's cell – a monumental task, with most of them. Why go through that when he had a willing volunteer?

"Excellent," he declared, and Sigyn swallowed down what would have been a squeal of excitement. "Can you begin now? This will save us time."

"Of course," Sigyn chirped. "Although, I will need some bandages and perhaps a few other supplies. Can you have them brought in, if I give you a list?"

"Certainly," Thor replied.

"And his food can be brought in while we wait," suggested the girl, although the undertones did more to command than to ask. Thor nodded. Then he and the guard made their exit.

Watching the exchange from his position on the floor, Loki grimaced – more with hard thinking than anything else. In the first place, he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about having this little woman flitting about him, fussing over him, and generally obsessing over him (as she had done for years when they were young); and it was a bit off-putting to be handed back and forth like an object or a pet. He didn't need to be _taken care of_. What he _needed_ was to be left alone, allowed to stew in the poisonous broth he had mixed up for himself. _Or perhaps a nice high cliff to jump off,_ he smirked to himself. It would save all the trouble of the cell and the trial. But he supposed that having someone clean his wounds and stop the bleeding under the muzzle would make things more comfortable.

What he was really pondering, though, was not Sigyn. It was Thor. What was it he had meant about negotiating with Forseti? He wasn't entirely sure negotiating anything with Forseti was possible, much less negotiating a war criminal's trial. And it went deeper than war crimes on Midgard. He was sure they were going to pin him for treason as well, after the political trickery of luring Laufey into Asgard. He could think of nothing Thor could possibly be negotiating. And then, of course, there was the simple thought of Thor _negotiating_ anything; it had not been long since Thor learned to _spell_ "negotiate," let alone knowing how to go about doing it. The idea was ludicrous.

And the worst part was, it almost made him hopeful.

Hope was something he could definitely do without.

* * *

"_Nngh!"_ Loki grunted as the muzzle was pulled jerkily from his face. He had a few choice words prepared for the dwarf who was removing it so roughly, but they all floated out of his mind as soon as he felt the air touch his skin. He let his mouth hang open for a moment, reveling in it. His jaw was stiff, and his lip was still bleeding, but the simple ability to open his mouth and breathe deeply overrode those things. He closed his mouth slowly and carefully and then licked his dry lips. "Finally," he murmured under his breath.

Then he smiled.

"Thank you," Sigyn was saying to the dwarf. "We'll call you back when it's time to put it back on."

"Aye," the dwarf growled behind his beard, making no eye contact with either of them as he trundled out into the corridor, off to do whatever it is dwarves do at their leisure. Sigyn watched him go with a sort of disgusted amusement, then turned to look at her charge.

Loki was standing aloof, in the corner; his wrists were still manacled, but he used his hands fairly effectively as a unit, and he was now reaching out to investigate the tray of food that had been left for him. Sigyn let herself get lost in watching him move, just for a moment. His tall frame was now draped in a wool cloak – it was a dark, dingy olive color, and the wool was scratchy, but at least it was warm. Behind him on the floor was a pile of indiscriminate cloth that would likely separate out into blankets and something that resembled a pillow. She wasn't sure about that one, but she hoped there was a pillow in there. That would make her feel better. Her eyes wandered up the long, straight lines of his body and lingered on his face. His sharp, angular jaw and sculpted cheeks were a little bit puffy from bruising, the yellows and browns of injuries incurred on Midgard mingling with the fresh wine-colored splotches from last night's beating. Thor had told her about it in whispers when he had escorted the dwarf in to remove the muzzle – although with the way Thor whispered, she was fairly certain Loki had heard every word – and she was horrified. It was a wonder all the older injuries hadn't opened right back up. There was a gash high up on his forehead, partially covered by strands of jet black hair, a slash above his right eye, a huge cut across the sharp bridge of his nose, some fairly hideous bruises under his left eye and along his jaw, and now the new split in his lip to match the one that had been there all along. But even under all the wounds, there was a statuesque quality to him that now, as ever, made her catch her breath a little, made her forget what she was doing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki caught her staring and sighed, the edge of his mouth twitching with a vague, tired amusement. She was looking him over again. Just like every other time he had been in her presence since he was ten years old. Well, that was Sigyn for you. She was nothing if not consistent. Reaching out with both shackled hands, he took hold of the half-loaf of bread that was perched on the corner of the tray. He pinched off a piece sharply, trying not to appear too ravenous, and stuck it in his mouth.

"Oof!" he yelped, clasping the back of his hand to his lips. He managed to swallow the bread, but the hard crust was only making his tattered mouth even angrier and more painful. Sigyn snapped out of her reverie and came to his rescue.

"Oh, here… don't— Don't bite too hard yet," she fussed. He let her take the bread from him and direct him to sit on the pile of blankets. "Let me treat the cuts on your mouth first – that'll make this easier. Then you can eat while I work on the rest of your face. How does that sound?"

"That sounds… like a plan," he said softly, trying not to stretch his lips more than he had to. She crouched on the floor beside him, and he watched with some interest as she reached into the bosom of her dress and pulled out a charm on the end of a thin chain. He quickly recognized it as an Algiz amulet, made of amber shaped into a rounded rectangle and inlaid with some dark stone in the shape of the healing rune. It was very well made, and had to have come from the palace infirmary craftsmen or Eira herself. If that was true, he thought, Sigyn was doing a lot more than just casually learning some magic. She was apprenticing herself, wanting to become a legitimate healer. He raised an eyebrow. "Did Eira give you that?"

"Yes," Sigyn replied, happily surprised that he had noticed its quality.

"Then why don't you wear it proudly instead of hiding it in your dress? To be given a rune amulet like that one is—"

"My mother's worst nightmare," the girl finished for him. "I can't let her see it. She'd never let me complete the apprenticeship. She thinks that if I let myself get _too intellectual_, I'll never try to find a husband."

"Ehehe," Loki chuckled. "I'm surprised she _wants_ you to find a husband. I would think that would interfere with her management of your every step." He smirked conspiratorially, and suddenly Sigyn was sixteen again, giggling with him as she had the first time he had given voice to her mutinous thoughts.

"Yes, well, I suppose anything is preferable to me _actually_ getting what I want out of life," she laughed, and then forced the jocularity out of her face. "All right, that's enough laughing now. Don't stretch your mouth, it'll interfere with the magic." She said it like a doctor to a patient, then made a face as she remembered that he probably knew more about the magic than she did. "Sorry," she mumbled as she laid the rune charm on her palm. "I just—"

"It's all right," Loki replied with quiet amusement, and he lifted his jaw toward her so she could see the splits in his lip. His eyes followed her movements as she cupped her hands around the amulet and then breathed into them; her head was lowered and her eyes shut as she meditated on the magic. There was a soft glow coming through the gaps in her fingers, white light tinged with the warm color of the amber. Then she quickly dropped the amulet and brought her fingers up to his lips.

Loki could feel the tingling begin deep inside his face as the magic began to work, closing up the split flesh and deadening the pain. Then, underneath the tingle, he became aware of the warmth of Sigyn's fingers, the softness of her healing touch, unfamiliar but somehow comforting. He closed his eyes and let her work, satisfied for the moment to do nothing but exist.

* * *

"Put your feet in the rapids, Vidar! Like this! It tingles!" Loki dangled his bare feet in the stream, allowing a white wash of bubbles to push them around and giggling as the stirring water shot between his toes. Vidar turned his silent five-year-old face up to look at his older brother, pondered for a moment, then stuck his own feet into the brook. He pulled them back almost as quickly, something resembling a sound trying to come out of his throat. The water was _freezing_. Loki might be two years his senior, but that apparently didn't make him very wise about things like frostbite. Vidar crossed his pudgy little arms and gave Loki a look that said as much. Loki was laughing. "Oh, come on, Vidar! It's just a little chilly! And look at the bubbles!"

The young prince's giggles and the splashing of his feet echoed off the myriad tree trunks that surrounded the little stream. Early morning in the grove of Ydalir had always been like this – peaceful, organic, quiet save for the bubbling of the water and the occasional birdsong – and, of course, the sounds of the youth of Asgard out on a lark. Today it was only Loki, Vidar, and Hodur; Thor was having his first real lesson in swordplay with Odin, Hermod was in the infirmary with a broken arm, and Baldur was off doing Heimdall-only-knew-what, probably tricking some poor palace servant into making him _another_ toy. Loki and the little twins were playing in the yew grove under the supervision of Volstagg who, at seventeen, was slightly more interested in discussing the finer points of arrow fletching with Ullr than babysitting three princes. He sat at the entrance to the little cave Ullr referred to as "his lair," which was really little more than a hole in the mountainside lined with black furs and smelling of meat, mead, and unwashed teenage boys. The two were deep in a discussion of the proper type of feathers to use in the making of arrows and were mostly ignoring Loki and the toddlers, who seemed safe enough dipping their feet in the stream.

"Dat's not juss a little chilly, Loki," Hodur grumbled, translating for his silent brother. "Maybe to you, but you c'n take a bath in ice water an' not even flinch. You're weird." Beside him, Vidar nodded vehemently, a motion Hodur felt but couldn't see. Loki chuckled.

"You're both just babies," he smirked. "Can't even put your feet in cold water!" His words brought on a pout from Vidar, who stomped one little foot and glowered at his brother from under pale blonde eyebrows. Loki considered him for a moment, then grinning, he swished a handful of water up from the creek and splashed it into the little boy's face. Vidar's mouth opened in a silent gasp of surprise as the cold water plastered his yellow curls to his forehead and ran down the neck of his tunic. His eyes sparked with a look that shouted, _Hey, no fair!_ – which made Loki laugh even harder. Vidar tried to keep being angry, but Loki's mischievous moods were always infectious, and he eventually softened his face and sat down, pretending to be huffy and upset but unable to stop the smile that stole across his lips. Loki watched him grin and then controlled his laughter, getting up and drying his feet on the moss which grew thick and dark on the bank. "All right. Do you want to play a game? Something we can all do?"

"Okay," Hodur acquiesced, and Vidar nodded, wiping water off his face. Loki bent down, hands on his knees.

"You two go hide, and I'll come and find you. All right?"

"Okay," Hodur said slowly, "but dis time you count to twenny an' don't count so fast like lass time." He eyed his big brother shrewdly, and Vidar nodded in agreement. Loki chuckled.

"All right. Slow, to twenty." Turning around, Loki called over his shoulder to Volstagg. "We're gonna play hide and seek, all right, Volstagg? We'll be back." He waited for a response; what he got was a grunt of acknowledgement from Ullr and an offhand wave from Volstagg, which he interpreted as permission to proceed. "Are you ready?" he asked then, turning back to his brothers. The toddlers tensed up like cats ready to pounce as Loki slowly and dramatically covered his eyes with his hands. He was silent for a moment, then he began counting with a melodramatic sluggishness. "One…." The two little boys took off like a shot, Hodur keeping a hold on Vidar's wrist as they ran.

By the time Loki got to twenty, he legitimately had no idea where his brothers had gone, except that they couldn't be far apart – Vidar would have had to help Hodur find a hiding place, so his own would have to be nearby. And chances were that they hadn't crossed the stream, if Vidar's response to the cold water was anything to go on. With that in mind, Loki headed around the back side of Ullr's den. There was a pine thicket back there, along with a few smaller holes and caves that might serve as hiding spots. He searched the holes first, wasting about ten minutes and finding nothing; then he spent a further fifteen minutes poking his head in the little caves where he was almost attacked by a rather large bat. They must be in the pine thicket, he reasoned, either under one of the fallen logs or possibly up one of the trees (although he doubted their stubby little legs and arms could make that climb). He was heading cautiously into the dark cluster of trees when something moving on the ground caught his eye.

At the base of one of the younger pines, nearly buried in a clump of moss and loam, was a small bundle of grey feathers that would have passed for a carcass except that it was twitching gently. Loki bent down and moved some of the debris aside and discovered that the bundle was in fact a small mockingbird, barely old enough to fly. Its feathers were wet and muddy and plastered to its thin body, and some of its pinions looked out of joint. One of its long tail feathers was broken. It looked as if it had seen quite a battle, with an animal much larger than it; there were little cuts all over its swollen legs, and what looked like a puncture wound near its head, and the left foot was shriveled up and twisted. Loki wasn't sure it was even conscious, although he could see its little chest move as it breathed. Tentatively, he reached out to attempt to pick it up. Suddenly, the little bird's eyes snapped open, and Loki was met with a bright amber stare that both unnerved him and excited him. The little bird was apparently clinging to life with a fierceness that belied its size and condition. As Loki tried again to pick it up, it struggled weakly against him, attempting to beat at him with its slate grey wings.

"Oh, hush, you little terror," he whispered, careful not to frighten it with his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. Something else did that before I got here." It snapped its head around at him and gave him a glance that seemed to size him up and test his veracity, and he grinned. "What if I take you home, hmm? I can take you to the infirmary, and Eira can make you better. How's that sound?" As he spoke, he tried to soothe the bird by petting its head with one finger. It jerked away from him, causing the feathers on its head to ruffle out of place, and he laughed. "Well now you just look silly," he quipped. It was the laugh that did it, he decided later; the bird felt the bounce in the young prince's stomach, looked up at him quizzically with burning eyes that scrutinized every inch of his face, and then simply stopped struggling. It didn't exactly snuggle against Loki's arm, but it allowed itself to be picked up without a fight. Loki's grin widened into a genuine smile. "There we go, you little dragon-spawn. You're all right." As Loki adjusted the little bird into the crook of his arm, there was a rustling in the bushes behind him which he ignored. Hodur came toddling grumpily out, followed silently by Vidar.

"Loki, you're 'apposed to come find us," Hodur prodded. His big brother answered him without even turning around.

"Never mind, Hodur. Game's over. Look what I found!" Standing up slowly, he turned and opened his arms just enough to display the little mockingbird to his brothers. "I'm taking him home with us. Isn't he wonderful?" As the two little princes examined their big brother's new pet, the bird glared back up at them regally, its amber eyes flashing with stubborn fire.

Eira told Loki in the infirmary later that evening that the bird's twisted leg was probably something that had happened before he even hatched – her Algiz magic wouldn't work on it, which meant it had never been whole in the first place. Everything else, though, she fixed up as good as new, and within a few days the little bird was fluttering impatiently around the infirmary, landing unsteadily on one foot but blatantly refusing help from anyone who touched him. Only Loki could catch him in flight or steady his landing without receiving a sharp peck on the hand. And it was only Loki who was given soft looks or chirps; anyone else who tried to talk to the bird was met only with a sharp, inscrutable amber stare. It was that mysterious look that gained him his name. Loki decided to call him Rúni, a reference to the secret wisdom the bird always seemed to be pondering and refusing to share. And in many ways, he became a reflection of his owner – neat, meticulous, aloof, given to sardonic expressions, and always seeming to have something hidden behind his bright but mysterious eyes.

* * *

"AGH!" Loki winced as Sigyn pulled the bandage tighter around his knee. His eyes flashed at her violently before softening again at her apologetic face.

"Sorry," the young woman soothed as she tied off the end of the cloth. "I know it's tight, but it will take a couple of days for the magic to completely seal up the crack in the bone, and in the mean time, this will help keep it from being too swollen." She ran her fingertips over the folds of cloth, checking to be sure it wouldn't wrinkle up.

"It's fine," he grimaced, although he knew good and well that was a lie and that it would keep him awake that night. Apparently his expression wasn't a good enough show of bravado, however, because Sigyn just looked at him with that mother-bird face of hers and sighed.

"It's going to hurt for another day at least, you know," she murmured. "The magic heals, but it's not always a pleasant process."

"I know," Loki replied, rubbing absently at the edges of the bandage. Her fussing was starting to be more than he could handle. "I'll be _fine_. I don't exactly intend to be out riding or competing in any feats of strength in the next few days. Or years, for that matter." He didn't smile, and for a moment he looked very much the morose and repentant prisoner. Then he slowly raised the one eyebrow which Sigyn knew always meant he was mocking his own words, and she smirked in spite of herself.

"Well at least now, you'll be able to walk to the council chamber tomorrow without limping," she quipped. His sardonic expression didn't crack, but she thought she saw a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. With another sigh, she looked around the room and began rolling the leftover bandage and stuffing herbs halfheartedly into the bag Thor had brought. "Are there any injuries I missed?" she asked him. Hopefully there weren't, but more things to treat meant she didn't have to leave just yet. This was the most time she had ever gotten to spend alone with the prince, and she wanted to make sure she took advantage of every minute. Loki picked through the remnants of his lunch as he considered whether or not he should say anything about the nasty bruises on his stomach. She didn't seem eager to leave, and truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to solitary confinement either, but letting her heal his bruised gut and ribs would mean having to take off his tunic, and there were two problems with that. The cell was still cold as Ymir's balls, and besides – for all he had gotten used to Sigyn's little infatuation with him, he wasn't entirely sure he was prepared to let her have her hands all over his bare torso. _That_ might be too much. He leaned over to snatch up the last piece of bread – and then he winced at the sharp pain that shot through his ribs and into his lung. _Damn_, he thought.

"Well," he sighed reluctantly as he pushed himself back up, "there _are_ a couple of bruises on my stomach, if you think that's something you should—"

"Let me see," Sigyn jumped, sitting back down and re-opening the bag. She pulled a key from the pouch at her waist and freed his hands from the manacles. Loki looked at her for a moment resignedly, then shuffled off the cloak and jacket and began unclasping the buttons at the neck of his tunic. He was debating whether or not Sigyn could get at the bruises just by lifting the bottom of the tunic, instead of removing it, when the garment in question was lifted over his head and tugged off. Sigyn tossed it to the side over his looks of protest and immediately began fussing over him like a baby. "Oh, in the name of all Nine Realms," she spat disgustedly, "this is ridiculous. They almost broke your ribs." Bending over him, she gently prodded the edges of the bruises, getting little reaction until her hand brushed his lowest rib and he jerked away instinctively. "Maybe they actually did break one," she murmured, leaning back to survey the damage as a whole picture. Then she noticed the goose bumps beginning to pop up on his arms and retrieved his cloak. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. Here, keep this around your shoulders. We don't want you freezing to death while I work."

"Thank you," Loki mumbled as he pulled the scratchy wool around him. _Although I suppose most of Asgard would be quite happy if I did freeze, _he mused wryly_. I wonder if a Frost Giant _can_ freeze to death? That _would_ be ironic…._

As Loki readjusted the way he was sitting to give her a better angle, Sigyn looked him over to size up the damage. "A couple of bruises" was an understatement, to say the least – the whole left side of his abdomen was purple and swollen like a ripe fruit. And with the way he had reacted to being touched, there was probably at least one cracked rib. There was certainly a hitch in his breathing, as much as he was trying to hide it. Looking at all of it together, she suddenly had to suppress a violent urge to claw out the eyes of the Einherjar responsible for it. That _anyone_ could be treated like this filled her with righteous indignation; that _Loki_, the handsome prince she had loved since childhood, could be treated in such a way – and by men who had once followed his command…. It was enough to make her sick with rage and frustration. Loki was an ideal to her, something quasi-sacred that couldn't and shouldn't be touched by the profaning hands of reality. It had started as a little girl's worshipful gratitude for the boy who had repaired her favorite toy; by the time either of them were old enough to realize what was happening, it had grown into an uncompromising love that Sigyn could scarcely explain – nor did she _want_ to explain it. Because she couldn't explain _him_. Loki was an enigma in Asgard (part of his charm, she acknowledged), and in a culture where adherence to certain norms was prized and rewarded, he had always been left on the outside. That had never seemed an obstacle to her, of course. She had loved him all the more for remaining true to his own sense of self in the face of an entire realm that wanted him to change. And now, looking at him lying cold and injured on the floor of a cell but still stubbornly clinging to those things that made him who he had always been, she felt her love for him swelling till it threatened to break her heart. It was enough to make her nearly forget how to work the magic.

The fact that she was about to have her hands on his bare chest didn't help matters, either.

Sigyn laid the amulet in her palm, stirred up the magic, and took a deep breath.

It took Sigyn about twenty minutes to heal all the bruising on Loki's stomach, and the rib – cracked, just as she had suspected – would have to have time to let the magic set in. It would all be mostly healed by the trial the next day, she told him, so at least he could stand up straight in the council chamber and not spend the whole proceedings grimacing. "Well, not grimacing from pain at least," she tried to joke. Loki was preoccupied with getting his jacket and cloak back on as quickly as possible, but he managed a wry smile.

"Oh, you know me, Sigyn," he smirked, tilting his head in his characteristically irreverent way. "I'll be the model defendant." He locked eyes with her for a moment in mock seriousness, then they both laughed dryly but good-naturedly. It was one of the few genuine laughs Sigyn had ever heard from him, and the realness of it sent a tingle down her spine. Then the moment passed, and she retrieved the manacles from the floor. Loki's lip curled in disgust, but he sighed resignedly and held out his wrists. Sigyn locked the cuffs reluctantly, helped him finish draping his cloak around his shoulders, and then headed for the door, wondering if the dwarf was still waiting outside with the muzzle. And she would have to call Thor back so he could ensure that the cell was locked to his satisfaction.

Loki pulled the collar of the cloak together and opened the rusty clasp, the weight of the manacles settling coldly and uncomfortably back into the old, familiar places on his wrists. After having them off, getting used to them again promised to be an even more daunting task than the first time. And he wasn't exactly looking forward to the return of the muzzle, either. He found himself wondering if Sigyn would be back. He hated to admit it, but her presence was likely the only reason there would ever be for them to unshackle him again, and he supposed that made her valuable to him. She might be fussy and clingy and sometimes irritating, but she bought him temporary freedom, and that was good for something, at least.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Loki glanced up from clasping the cloak pin as Sigyn spun back around in the doorway. She put down her bag and walked back over to him, and he raised his eyebrow quizzically. "One more thing I was going to do for you," she explained. Then with a deep breath, she closed her eyes, whispered something under her breath, and placed her thumb against her lips. A soft glow the color of warm honey sprang up around her fingernail. Loki had just enough time to recognize the beginnings of the protection spell, and then Sigyn was reaching up to his forehead. She was a small woman, and she had to tilt her head back to get a proper view; then she slowly traced the shape of the Algiz rune with a glowing thumb. Loki felt his skin tingling under her touch, a sensation like small bubbles below the surface spreading out from the rune shape across his face. She let her thumb linger a second or two after she finished drawing the symbol, then she slowly dropped her hand. Loki shivered in spite of himself as the bubbly feeling washed down through his neck and shoulders and then faded, and Sigyn giggled at him, shaking her hand to get rid of the remnants of the faint magical glow. He looked down at her questioningly, and she turned her eyes down shyly, the faintest hint of a flush beginning to return to her cheeks. "Don't want the guards trying anything and undoing all my hard work…" she mumbled. For a moment, she kept her gaze turned down, then she looked up at him briefly but intensely, and in her dark blue eyes Loki saw the memory of a little girl made eternally grateful by a smile and a mended doll.


End file.
